The Gift of Life
by BiscuitsForPotter
Summary: The war is over and life returns to normal... or some strange, new version of normal. But for Draco and Hermione, nothing is the same. Their daughter came roaring into the world during the Battle of Hogwarts. How will these two face a post-war world, parenthood, and each other? Sequel to The Gift of Joy.
1. Chapter 1

**It's finally here, everyone! After 8 months of waiting, I am posting The Gift of Life, the sequel to my first real fic, The Gift of Joy. That story dipped in and out of the canon of Deathly Hallows, and this story picks up shortly after that one leaves off.**

**I've been working hard making sure that the story I put out there is the best it can be and I really hope you enjoy it. More detailed notes at the end!**

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Draco Malfoy had received many fantastic birthday gifts in his lifetime.

On his fourth birthday, he received a fire-breathing, flying, stuffed dragon that had quickly become his favorite toy for years.

For his ninth birthday, he received his first real racing broom, and he had jumped around his bedroom for hours, anxiously awaiting the pouring rain outside to pass so he could give it a go.

He had received his first kiss on his thirteenth birthday. Pansy Parkinson had cornered him in the common room after dinner and pressed her lips to his before running off with a squeak. It had been an out-of-body experience, practically.

Three years later, Pansy's gift morphed into his first hand job, given during their Prefect's rounds in an abandoned classroom. That particular birthday had been a revelation.

When Draco turned eighteen, however, he did not receive any extravagant presents. There were no new racing brooms or mind-blowing experiences with girls awaiting him that day. He knew this ahead of time. But that was not to say there weren't any gifts.

The only gifts he wanted were lying beside him in bed and in a nearby cot.

Hermione had been up with the baby most of the night, soothing and nursing. Though he volunteered to bottle-feed Shiloh at night, Hermione insisted on doing it all by herself.

Bloody stubborn witch.

He had been vaguely aware of her body slipping under the covers of their shared bed at Shell Cottage sometime in the night, but he hadn't been awake enough to cast a _Tempus_ charm, let alone soak in just how damn tired she looked.

She had looked exhausted for practically the entire month since the Battle of Hogwarts—as it had come to be called. Forget about his birthday. She deserved a lie-in.

When the sound of Shiloh's tears roused Draco from his slumber on the morning of his eighteenth birthday, he didn't stop to selfishly consider that today was his special day, as he would have in years past. Instead, he rolled over and blinked into an attempted state of consciousness.

Hermione stirred in her sleep, and he turned to face her. He drank in the bags under her eyes, apparent even in the early-morning moonlight. Over the past month or so, this woman had been nothing short of amazing. Not that she hadn't been before. But there was something awe-inspiring about watching Hermione become a mother; Draco had whole new layers of appreciation for all she was capable of. It wasn't only that she had she managed to recover from a rather traumatic birth. No, certainly not only that—though that was definitely an impressive accomplishment on its own.

What floored Draco nearly every day was that despite losing so much in the war, she was still able to care for their child with a level of compassion he wasn't sure he could ever possess. Every _look_, every _touch_, every _word_ with Shiloh was loving in such a way that only a mother could be.

But looking at her now, it was clear that even she had her limits.

Shiloh's whimpers grew more urgent, and Hermione immediately shot up, blinking, a look of pure misery on her face.

"She can't be crying again. She just _can't_. I _just_ got her down."

Hermione raked her hands up her face and inhaled deeply, clearly stifling a frustrated yawn. It was hard seeing her like this. Since she had given birth immediately following the Battle of Hogwarts, Draco hadn't seen her break down. Not even once. Even though he, himself, had cried off and on in the aftermath of the war, she hadn't shed a single tear. Not yet, anyway.

It was bound to happen, _and soon_ if she didn't get any sleep. It would likely be good for her—cathartic, even.

_But perhaps,_ thought Draco, _four in the morning wasn't the best time for a breakdown. Especially with Shiloh about to cry._

"Don't worry, love. I've got her," he whispered, leaning over to kiss Hermione's cheek and guiding her head back down to her pillow.

"But Draco… 's your birthday." Hermione protested as she yawned again.

"Nonsense. You're exhausted. Go back to sleep."

He tried to make his tone as soothing as possible, and sure enough, Hermione snuggled right back into her pillow and was asleep moments later.

Taking a deep breath, Draco swung his pyjama-clad legs over the edge of the bed and pushed himself to his feet. He padded over to the cot, still bleary-eyed. Unlike her parents, Shiloh was wide-awake, her lower lip in a full pout and her grey-blue eyes big and teary. With trained motions, he scooped up his daughter and tucked her into the crook of his elbow.

"There, there, little girl. I've got you. That's a good girl."

With Shiloh safe in his arms, Draco shifted over to the rocking chair. Perhaps he could rest a bit, even if he couldn't sleep.

The chair seemed to do the trick, because within two minutes, Shiloh passed out completely, her little mouth hanging wide open. Draco couldn't help but chuckle, because when he looked over at Hermione, her mouth was in the exact same position.

Like mother, like daughter.

Somehow, in the past few weeks, the mundane had become very special. Draco delighted at things as simple as an evening walk, a soft kiss from Hermione, or even just sitting and watching his daughter sleep, much as he was now.

Draco could hear nothing but the sounds of breathing and the soft crash of waves in the distance as moonlight spilled in through the gossamer curtains, painting the room in hues of navy and cornflower. There was something peaceful about these early morning hours when all the world was asleep. In the chaos of a post-war existence, this was the perfect time of day for quiet contemplation. And this morning was made even more perfect when his daughter not only fell asleep, but _stayed_ asleep as she cuddled against his chest.

Yes, if he had to pick a way to start his eighteenth birthday, _this_ would definitely be it.

Surely, a party complete with cake and presents courtesy of Mrs. Weasley would come later, but for now, this was bliss.

Frankly, he was just grateful he could feel bliss at all. Life had turned upside down for so many in the past few weeks—months, even—and Draco had seen a number of his acquaintances struggle to acclimate to the new world that had emerged after the war. Many of those who had lost loved ones had taken to occupying pubs at all hours of the day and night. The wizarding clubbing scene had begun to grow exponentially in the past couple weeks, to the point there had been several articles in the Daily Prophet titled things like _Ways to Avoid Questionable Parties_ and _Best to Avoid :_ _How to Attend A Banger While Avoiding Muggle Attention_.

The parties were so rampant that even Longbottom had been roped in, it seemed. When Ginny Weasley had dropped by a few days previously to ogle at Shiloh and check in, she reported that he had been seen emerging from a dance club with his arms wrapped around not one, but _two_ witches.

It was all a little much in Draco's opinion.

Still, celebrating a bit too hard was better than burying oneself in grief.

George Weasley hadn't emerged from his joke shop in over two weeks, at least according to Bill. He wasn't taking food. He wasn't making any noise whatsoever. In a panic, Mrs. Weasley had sent Bill over there last week to cast _Hominem Revelio_ just to confirm he was still alive.

It seemed that the Wizarding World was, for the most part, firmly rooted in one of these two reactions to the victory. Even Ron seemed to pick a side. He fell into the party crowd. Just last week he had taken Luna out for drinks. Draco cringed as he remembered the sounds of loud, sloppy shagging coming from the sitting room of Shell Cottage in the middle of the night. He and Hermione had been up caring for Shiloh and had cursed the youngest Weasley brother for forgetting to throw up a silencing charm.

Draco had had half a mind to cover his daughter's ears.

Harry Potter was, of course, an exception to the rule. He seemed oddly steady as the days passed and the war began to settle into nothing more than memories. No doubt, having Ginny to lean on was a big reason that he seemed so… normal. The two of them came around a handful of times a week to sit by the ocean or chat. Harry insisted that he help out with Shiloh in order to be more prepared when it was his turn to watch Teddy without supervision.

As for him and Hermione… they were exhausted and emotionally drained, yes, but Draco was fairly certain that their state of being originated from taking care of a premature baby, not the aftereffects of war.

That was why Draco treasured these early morning quiet moments so much. In these precious minutes, he had the chance to come to terms with his new life.

Cuddling Shiloh into his chest a bit, he watched her sleep. He was so bloody grateful for this little girl. Not only was she his lovely daughter, but taking care of her had added much-needed structure to his life. He was too busy rocking, changing nappies, and winding to spend much time dwelling on much else.

When he did catch himself with a few empty seconds, his first thoughts were often his fathering skills, or lack-thereof, rather than the aftereffects of war.

Hermione insisted that he was a good dad.

Draco didn't really know what that looked like, so he couldn't speak properly on the matter. His care, even at this age, had been provided largely by house elves, so he hadn't the slightest idea what fathers typically did for newborns.

Even though Hermione encouraged him and all the books suggested that they were doing everything correctly, he still couldn't shake the feeling that he was doing something wrong—that because of his actions, this sweet little girl would suffer.

Maybe he needed more rest as well…

Draco closed his eyes, allowing sleep to wash over him.

When he woke, the sky was filled with the soft orange of a new sunrise. He must have been asleep for at least an hour, if not two. Shiloh was still fast asleep in his arms. Glancing up, he saw Hermione was still sleeping as well. Thankfully, the bags under her eyes had lightened considerably.

When Draco adjusted his position, his arms jostled just a bit too much, and Shiloh began to fuss. Despite his shushing, the noise woke Hermione. With a yawn and a sleepy smile, she held out her arms to accept the baby.

"Thank you for taking her," she mumbled, unbuttoning her pyjama top to expose her engorged breasts.

Draco could stare at them all day if Hermione allowed it. Her creamy skin stretched around her dusty pink nipples, stiff and oh, so tantalizing.

Merlin, he couldn't wait for the healer to clear them for sex.

But it wasn't just what someone might think, him being an eighteen year-old bloke and all. Sure, he missed her body and the things it could do to him, but it was more than that. He missed the rush of closeness he felt when all barriers between them disappeared, when he was buried inside of her, every inch of them connected, both inside and out.

Clearly, he must have been staring for longer than he thought, because Hermione started laughing at him.

"What?" he asked defensively, sitting beside her on the crisp white duvet.

"You are so transparent, Draco Malfoy."

"And you're a _tease_."

"I'm feeding our daughter." Hermione rolled her eyes, shaking her head.

Draco pouted momentarily, settling on his side to watch Shiloh suckle greedily at Hermione's breast.

"Aren't you the lucky one," he commented to his daughter. "You get to touch your mummy's breasts whenever you want because that's how you eat. I'm not even allowed to think about touching them." Draco waggled his eyebrows and shot a cheeky grin up at Hermione, who had begun to laugh in earnest now.

"Ooh, stop, Draco! Shiloh won't be able to latch properly."

He relented as their daughter finished her meal, offering to wind her afterwards. When she was successfully in a milk coma, he laid her back down in her cot.

"There. Hopefully the little sprog'll sleep for a bit." He collapsed beside Hermione in the bed, turning to grin at her. "Now what?"

To his surprise, a sly smile sat on Hermione's face, one edge turned up. There was a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

"Did I say thank you for taking Shiloh last night? Because I really should."

Draco raised a single eyebrow as Hermione began to crawl across the bed toward him. He swallowed, but decided to play along.

"You know, I really can't recall. Perhaps I need a refresher."

In one swift movement, she settled herself between his thighs, hands tracing the elastic of his pyjama bottoms. He felt his cock harden. _Oh, sweet Merlin. Was she…?_

"Well," Hermione began, edging the garment down his legs. "Actions speak louder than words, don't they?"

Draco almost forgot to breathe as his length sprang free, cool morning air surrounding him for only moments before Hermione enveloped him with her hot mouth. He groaned in pleasure. _Sweet Circe_, he'd almost forgotten this sensation, the feeling of her tongue sliding across his cock, the warmth from her mouth drawing sounds and sensations from him that he didn't know were possible. This witch's lips and tongue were nothing short of magical, the way they swirled over him, wet and welcoming.

Everything else fell away as Hermione lavished his manhood with attention. He was vaguely aware of her hands fondling his sack, but all coherent thoughts evaporated the moment she took him all the way in her mouth. He managed to groan out a string of primal sounds as his balls began to tighten. _No._ He wanted to hang on just a little longer–he wanted to savor this feeling of pure ecstasy. If he came now, he would have barely lasted a couple of minutes. That was just embarrassing.

But then Hermione's tongue swirled over his tip as one of her hands began to pump him, and he was gone. Throwing his head back, he grunted as he came in thick spurts that she quickly swallowed.

Boneless, Draco fell back against the pillows.

Hermione crawled back up beside him and leaned over to kiss his forehead. "Happy birthday, Draco. I love you."

"Love you, too," he murmured, turning to his side to snuggle into his girlfriend.

"I got you an _actual_ present, you know," she whispered against his temple.

Draco drew back, his mouth quirking into a smile. "You didn't have to do that. I've got everything I need right here."

Wrinkling her nose in a laugh, Hermione rolled over and reached into the drawer of her bedside table. From within, she withdrew something hanging from a long, silver chain. Flipping back around, she held it out in her palm for him to take.

The small object sitting at the end of the necklace felt familiar in his fingers–the size, the weight, the texture…

He knew this gift. Draco looked between it and his girlfriend, his mouth hanging open in a disbelieving grin.

"Hermione, when did you find the time?"

She shrugged, shooting him a slightly smug smile. "I'm not the cleverest witch of my age for nothing." Sitting up, she slipped the chain over his head.

Draco looked down to see the pebble that had kept him sane for all those long months now hanging directly adjacent to his heart. The feel of the smooth rock against his skin felt comforting. It felt like home. And then, to his surprise, the pebble began to warm. Looking up, he saw Hermione wearing a nearly-identical chain, her own pebble held between her fingers.

"And I've got a matching one," Hermione said as she cupped his face and leaned in for another kiss. Their lips brushed together; it was his way of saying thank you when he didn't quite know what to say or even how to form words.

Yes, this was shaping up to be an excellent birthday, indeed.

Two days later found Hermione sitting at the breakfast table alongside Bill, Fleur, Harry, Ron, and oddly enough, Luna.

Hermione shot her redheaded best friend a knowing look as the eccentric girl slid beside him and dished herself up some sausages. Ron had the decency to turn pink with embarrassment.

"Have a good night, eh, Ron?" Bill asked, a teasing edge to his voice.

"Oh, I should hope so," Luna chimed in as she reached for the eggs. "I found a patch of land previously occupied by a nymph. It's quite auspicious and pleasurable to have relations in such a place, and…"

Ron turned three shades of purple, his eyes wide as he turned to her and haphazardly hissed, "Lu—Shh!"

"Just don't forget the contraceptive charm," Hermione chided. "Shiloh is cute, but I'm sure you have other plans for your immediate future that don't include raising a baby."

One of the first items of business Hermione had attended to once the dust had settled after the battle was to ask for a private lesson on contraceptives from Madam Pomfrey. In fact, during her upcoming year at Hogwarts, she planned to petition newly-appointed Headmistress McGonagall to include a mandatory sex education course for all students. She didn't want anyone to be caught in a bind because of a lack of knowledge, as she had.

Not that she regretted Shiloh.

The sweet little girl was her whole world. But not everyone had the wherewithal at eighteen to become a parent, let alone be lucky enough to have a partner who was supportive as hers. Every time she watched Draco care for their daughter, her heart melted and her stomach burst into butterflies, as though she was falling for him all over again.

In a way, she supposed, she really was falling for him _again_. The Draco she had gotten to know last summer was in an incredibly dark place; he had been surly, vulnerable, and difficult to crack open. She had fallen for Draco as she peeled back layer after layer until all she could see was someone who just needed love and reassurance. She had comforted him, and in turn, he had done the same for her. Looking back, she wasn't sure if the twisting feeling in her stomach had actually been love or just a strong infatuation partnered with lust.

But watching Draco now, there was no way that the depth of her feelings could be explained by a mere infatuation. The man he had grown into was leagues away from the detached, angry boy he had been last year. There was love there–more love than she imagined possible coming from someone who had been so broken. The way he looked at her and the way he cared for their daughter made her heart feel complete.

Draco's love made her feel less broken inside… less torn apart by her horrific experiences from the war. And Shiloh… Shiloh gave her a reason to get out of bed every day; the little girl gave her reasons to smile and to make plans for the future. Hermione wanted to give her daughter the best life.

Just then, Draco clambered down the steps, their daughter cradled to his chest.

Ron hopped to his feet, his chair threatening to tip over in his haste, and his eyes flew to the baby. Whatever embarrassing information Luna had been about to share was cut off as Ron spoke over her a little too enthusiastically.

"There's my goddaughter!"

Hermione watched confusion pass over Draco's face for a brief moment when Ron practically raced over, his arms outstretched.

"Did you wash your hands?" Draco asked, clutching Shiloh tightly as he looked down his nose at the redhead.

"Well, yeah. A bit ago." Ron's hands faltered, dropping to his sides.

"Go and wash them again and then _maybe_ you can hold her."

Hermione rolled her eyes. Draco may have changed, but he could still be haughty when he wanted to be.

The blond settled beside her at the table, passing Shiloh over. Her daughter stared up at her with big grey eyes.

"She really is a lovely baby," cooed Fleur. "Bill, what do you say? Let's have one of our own."

Bill choked on his eggs, and Harry leaned over to pat his back. After clearing his throat, he became the second person to abruptly change the subject that morning.

"So, you lot—have you decided what you're going to do with your holiday before you return to Hogwarts?"

"Well, Harry and I weren't planning on going back," admitted Ron, who had sidled back into the room and sat down at the table. "Seems like a step backwards, dunnit?"

Hermione rounded on her best friends.

"You can't be serious. You need to complete your education if you want to have any hope of a meaningful career."

To her surprise, Harry answered her nagging with a single raised eyebrow. "'Mione, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement offered both of us a spot in this year's training class. Didn't they owl you as well?"

Hermione frowned, shaking her head. She had _not_, in fact, received an owl offering her any sort of job. She could understand Harry being offered a job over her, of course, but Ron? A bitter jealousy bubbled in her stomach as she continued stewing at the breakfast table. Why had she not received any job offers? Not that she would have taken them, of course—she wanted to finish her NEWT year, but her heart sank a little at the thought that she hadn't even been considered.

As if he could read her mind, Draco rubbed her back, shooting her a reassuring look.

"Doesn't matter anyway. We're definitely heading back to Hogwarts in September, so a job offer would be wasted."

An awkward silence hung over the table for a minute until Luna piped up.

"Well, I am planning to go on holiday with Daddy as soon as he is discharged from St. Mungo's. We're going to look for another Crumple-Horned Snorkack horn since the old one was destroyed during the war."

The three Gryffindor friends shared a knowing look with one another. The horn—that had actually belonged to an erumpent had destroyed the Lovegood's home that past winter, nearly killing everyone on site. Hermione opened her mouth to tell Luna exactly what she thought about such an expedition, but Harry shook his head at her, as if to say, _'It's not worth it.'_

"I was actually thinking about giving the Amateur Summer Quidditch League a try." Ron diverted everyone's attention to him. "They're looking for some new players and I thought I'd go to tryouts. Try to have some fun before Auror training."

When Harry suggested that he just wanted to spend a quiet summer with Ginny, Fleur had to remind her husband in hushed tones that the Boy-Who-Lived did not need a lecture.

"And what about you two?" Bill asked after he had taken a couple calming breaths. "Are you going to hang around here all summer with the baby? We'd be delighted to have you."

Hermione shot Draco a look. She hadn't really had time to discuss it yet, but… it had been a direct question, after all. Keeping her eyes on her daughter, she began to speak.

"Actually," she began, "I was hoping to take a trip to Australia. I sent my parents there when I Obliviated them, and I want to see if I can reverse the spellwork."

Stealing a glance to her right, she was met with Draco's kind eyes. The rest of the table didn't really respond. Obliviation reversal was notoriously difficult, and what she had done to her parents was considered more than mildly unethical by the handful of people she had spoken to since the war ended. Hermione could no longer count the number of times someone had warned her that any attempts to restore their memories would likely fail.

But none of that mattered… not when she had a chance to have them back in her life… not when she had the chance to introduce them to their granddaughter.

She hadn't quite had the time to discuss it all with Draco yet. Their conversations now mostly centered around nappies.

In her nervous state, she found herself continuing to babble on. "And of course we'd take the baby. I don't want to overburden you all summer. Is that… Draco?" She looked over to see a slight frown on his face.

"Are you sure you're up for such a trip?" He set his fork down. "You only had Shiloh a month ago, and you haven't been cleared by healers to travel. It seems a bit reckless if you ask me."

Draco's words hung in the air between them. Hermione's insides squirmed with guilt; she knew she had a history of recklessness where Shiloh was concerned. It seemed every time she looked at her daughter, she was reminded of what almost wasn't. Those rosy cheeks had been born blue, those powerful lungs, silent.

One month ago, she had vowed never to put herself, Draco, or Shiloh in that kind of danger again. In her opinion, Australia did not warrant the definition of reckless.

"I read that it's perfectly safe for babies to travel by Portkey," she began. "Also, I would be traveling with you the whole time. We'd be staying in a hotel and we could relax most of the trip." Hermione shot Draco a pleading look. "I've thought this through. I have a meeting with my healer later this week to make sure I'm ready. If the healer says no, I'll postpone it."

Draco sighed. "A holiday would be nice, I suppose. Of course, I had always pictured Italy for our first one together, but Australia is lovely as well." He smiled softly at her, patting her hand.

Hermione grinned back, relief flooding her chest. "I could arrange an international Portkey for next week sometime. What do you think?"

"Sounds perfect."

Hermione soon discovered that International Portkeys were handled in a different manner than domestic ones when she made inquiries with the Department of Magical Transportation. While domestic Portkeys could be regulated from outside the Ministry, all international travel had to be conducted from a departure point within the underground complex to ensure proper procedures and laws were followed.

Once arrangements were made, Draco and Hermione packed for winter in Australia. It was, admittedly, difficult to find cold weather baby clothes in the middle of June, but Mrs. Weasley had stepped in and knitted a small bundle of blankets and layettes for Shiloh. Ginny had whispered later that evening that it was the first time she had touched her knitting needles since the battle, and Hermione felt a wave of gratitude wash over her.

On the morning of June thirteenth, bags packed and the baby strapped to Hermione's chest, the young family Flooed over to the Ministry of Magic thirty minutes prior to their scheduled Portkey time. Saying goodbyes to everyone proved more difficult than she had imagined. Since they had no idea exactly how long they would be in Australia, they had not yet arranged for a return Portkey. Hermione had hardly been apart from Harry in almost a year, and his goodbye was the hardest. They had hugged for a rather abnormal amount of time beside the fireplace until Draco had heavily implied that it really was time to go.

Stepping into the Ministry atrium drew a number of stares from passersby. _The Daily Prophet_ caught wind of the birth of a baby between star crossed lovers shortly after the battle, and had run several columns featuring outlandish speculations about their little family ever since. Until this moment, Hermione had avoided the Wizarding public for this very reason. But their Portkey was waiting, and they couldn't avoid going out forever.

She shielded Shiloh's face from the view of all those around them and led Draco over toward the lifts. Her feet seemed to lead her automatically, as she had become intimately familiar with the layout of this place during the infiltration last year.

If she thought about it this was her first time at the Ministry when she wasn't in any sort of danger. It was almost odd.

The lift carried them swiftly to Level Six, where the small family made their way down the hallway to the left, where the Portkey Office stood.

"Ready?" Draco asked as he placed his hand on the doorknob, poised to enter.

"Let's do this."

Hermione had expected to see a handful of office workers sitting at desks when they walked in. She had expected to see, perhaps, a bin full of objects ready to be turned into Portkeys.

What she hadn't expected to see was a group of Aurors huddled together, whispering. The moment they stepped through the threshold, the entire room seemed to freeze. All eyes turned their way as the typical sounds of office hustle and bustle died, replaced by the faint flaps of paper airplane memos and the buzz of empty air.

The hair on the back of Hermione's neck stood on end. Something wasn't right. In fact, something was terribly, _terribly_ wrong. An all-too-familiar twisting feeling returned to her stomach as she watched one of the Aurors step forward, his eyes glued to Draco.

Hermione watched all the color drain from his already-pale face.

"Draco Abraxas Malfoy?" the man asked.

"Yes?" Draco responded, his voice hesitant.

"You're under arrest for the torture of eleven people using the Cruciatus Curse. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defense if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence."

"I think you're mistaken," Hermione rushed forward as she watched two Aurors approach Draco with magic-suppressing cuffs. "Draco was on our side. He fought with us at Hogwarts. He gave Harry the wand that ensured he could beat Voldemort!"

The Aurors all flinched at the name.

"That may be the case, but he will have to prove that in front of the Wizengamot. In the meantime, he will be detained here at the Ministry."

"But you can't! We're meant to be going to Australia, the three of us."

"I'm sorry, Miss Granger, but there is nothing–"

"You can't take Draco away from his daughter!"

Hermione shifted to the side to show tiny, sleeping Shiloh to the Aurors. They paid her no mind, leading Draco away. He looked back at her over his shoulder, sheer terror shining in his eyes.

Her heart beating in her throat, Hermione looked around wildly for someone—_anyone_ to do something.

"Excuse me," a small voice from a nearby desk piped up. Hermione whipped around to see a short wizard with a large, grey mustache holding up a straw hat with obnoxiously pink gloves. "Your Portkey is about leave. You'll need to grab hold of it, Miss Granger."

She managed to speak through her panicked breaths. "I'm sorry, but did you just—I can't go. I'll have to cancel."

"Oh, I'm afraid not. Policy dictates that once an international Portkey has been arranged, cancellations must be made more than twenty-four hours in advance. We've already filed paperwork with the Australian Ministry, you see."

"To hell with the paperwork!" Hermione protested, stamping her foot, her eyes filled with angry tears. "I can't go! Not now!"

"You can arrange for a return Portkey upon your arrival in Australia. Your destination will be the Portkey office at the Australian Ministry. With any luck, you will be able to make immediate arrangements." The tiny man looked at his pocket watch and squeaked. "Please, Miss Granger, grab hold of your Portkey. It departs in fifteen seconds."

Hermione's head pounded, her mouth dry. She clutched Shiloh to her chest through the baby carrier as if her daughter were the only thing keeping her grounded. _Draco had been arrested. He had been arrested for torture! _

She wanted to throw up.

Damn the consequences. Her parents could wait.

Hermione was about to turn around when she felt the rough texture of straw fill her hands. The employee must have shoved the hat at her. She opened her mouth to yell at him, but before she could get a single word out, the Portkey activated, and she felt herself being pulled up and away, out of the office.

When she landed in a similar-looking office moments later, she fell onto her knees, her arms still wrapped protectively around her daughter. The baby was, understandably, crying. Using a Portkey was an awful sensation, after all.

As for Hermione, she actually did throw up all over the floor of the Australian Ministry's Portkey Office.

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**Oh, were you under the impression that this would be a pure fluff story? Guess again!**

**Down to business. I am planning on this story being about 23 chapters. I will be updating EVERY OTHER WEEK, on Saturdays or Sundays. This every-other-week business is so that I don't ever leave you all anticipating a chapter that I haven't written yet.**

**I hope you all enjoyed this chapter and are buckled up for the ride. I hope that you like where I'm taking the story. It's gonna be a journey.**

**Follow me on tumblr at BiscuitsForPotter for some nonsense. Leave a comment if you're feeling generous.**

**Love you all! **


	2. Chapter 2

**I hope me posting this chapter can be a bright spot in your day amidst all this chaos. 3 **

* * *

As soon as Hermione vanished the sick off the floor of the Australian Portkey office, she clambered to her feet, panic welling inside. Shiloh had also sicked up all over her blouse, little legs and fists kicking from her baby carrier in discomfort. The baby was now screaming, her face red with misery. Hermione couldn't help but agree with her daughter's sentiment, but as a responsible adult, she had no time to cry. Casting a quick _'Scourgify'_ on Shiloh's top, Hermione forced herself to take deep, calming breaths.

Well-practiced at shoving her feelings aside to take care of the task at hand, Hermione found herself slipping back into the mindset that had dominated her actions for much of the last year. She could cry later. Now was the time to get to work so she could return home as quickly as possible.

Thoughts of Draco being taken away in magical suppressant cuffs by that group of Aurors flashed in her mind as she made her way over to the reception desk. Just the memory of it twisted her stomach in knots to the point that she thought she might be sick again.

"Ah, yes. Miss Granger. We've been expecting you. Please present your wand for identification." A young witch wearing a violently purple blouse greeted her. She seemed to be checking a list of some kind. "And where is… Mr. Malfoy?"

Hermione felt her jaw tighten in anger, but she knew very well how offices like this worked. _You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar_.

"He couldn't make it," she said, trying to keep her tone light.

The receptionist tutted. "Such a shame. I'll have to charge the no-show fee, no exceptions I'm afraid. You may make a payment over at window number three."

Though the woman turned away, Hermione continued to speak.

"Please, if you don't mind, I'd like to arrange for a return Portkey as soon as possible."

The receptionist eyed Hermione with suspicion, her eyes flicking between her face and the baby.

"That'd be window two."

Hermione thanked the woman and made her way over to window three to make a payment of two galleons. As it turned out, window two had a minor queue, despite the fact that it was almost time for the Ministry workday to end.

She tapped her toe as the line inched forward, though not nearly fast enough to her satisfaction. What were the Aurors doing to Draco back in London? Were they interrogating him? Had they thrown him into one of the holding cells in the bowels of the Ministry? Was there talk of Azkaban?

Oh, Gods, she had to get back there _fast_.

Her mind was whirling, unable to focus on any one thing as she stood in that damn queue. It wasn't until a surly, older man turned around and hissed at her to, "Shut that damn baby up!" that Hermione even realized Shiloh was still crying.

Shooting the man a half-apologetic, half-vengeful look, Hermione began rocking back and forth in line, rubbing circles on her daughter's back. On top of the anger and panic she felt, guilt was now also piling on top. How had she not noticed her daughter's discomfort? She was such an awful mother.

"There, there, little girl. It's all right. We'll be home soon with Daddy. You'll see."

Hermione wasn't sure if she was trying to comfort Shiloh or herself with those words.

Finally, after what felt like ages, it was her turn to step up to the window. She was greeted by a bored-looking wizard with horn-rimmed glasses that reminded her of Percy.

"Welcome to the Portkey Office of Australia. How can I help you today?" he drawled.

"Erm, I'd like to arrange travel back to the British Ministry as quickly as possible."

The bored employee looked up through hooded eyes and then back down at his ledger. Flipping backward and forward a couple pages, he responded after a few seconds, his voice monotone.

"Our next return time is in about three weeks on the third of July."

Hermione spluttered in indignation.

_Three weeks_. So much could happen in three weeks. Her imagination immediately flew to all the

terrible possibilities that could await Draco in all that time. What if they threw him in Azkaban? What if they starved him or _tortured_ him? What if he was driven to the point where he felt pressured to confess to crimes he did not commit?

She had to get back there. There was just no other option.

"Surely, there's something you can do! There's been a mistake and we've been separated from her father!"

The bored wizard stared for a moment before sighing.

"My apologies, but that's policy. We don't make exceptions."

Hermione had half a mind to give Ginny's infamous Bat-Bogey hex a go on this infuriating man.

_Honey. Not vinegar._

She groaned, rubbing her temples as she continued to rock Shiloh back and forth. "Fine. Yes. The earliest available slot, if you please."

Draco Malfoy was nothing if not a proud man. Though he may have been humbled in the past year, his pride and his name still meant something to him. It had been through the compassion of others that he had been able to have the courage to transform himself into a man who could restore the name of Malfoy. He was not going to waste that chance. As the group of Aurors led him down the corridor to the lift, he thought of his girlfriend and daughter. The look of devastation on Hermione's face as he was led away haunted him as he sat in the dark, dank holding cell below the Ministry courtrooms.

Despite his determination, he couldn't help the small voice at the back of his head that whispered horrible things.

_You deserve to go to Azkaban. _

_Soulless bastard. _

_A monster like you doesn't deserve a normal life with a family. _

Being led down there in handcuffs had been nothing short of humiliating. He had felt people's stares pierce his back. Shame rose, hot and acidic within him. Draco knew what they were thinking: that he was just another Malfoy, dark and dangerous, who needed to be thrown in Azkaban like his father.

Draco didn't need Legillimancy to know what all these Ministry employees were thinking.

Hell, part of him believed them.

The Aurors hadn't bothered to interrogate him or even talk to him after reading him his rights. Instead, they had led him silently all the way down to the cell where he now sat, entrenched in misery and missing the feel of Hermione's hand in his. What would she say to all this? Would she still love him when he was tossed in Azkaban for torture? Would she allow him to visit Shiloh?

The thought of not being able to hold his daughter again made him want to cry.

All he had wanted to do was live. And yet, somehow, to simply live did not seem enough.

As quickly as she could, Hermione used a public Floo at the Australian Ministry to fire call Shell Cottage. Bill had answered the call. He balked when Hermione filled him in on the basics of the situation, and he immediately called Harry and Ron over. Both of her friends came running, confusion painting their faces as they knelt in front of the grate. When she retold her story, she watched as those expressions morphed into ones of fury.

"You told them about Shiloh, didn't you? You told them he's got a baby to take care of, right?" Ron's voice cracked as he spoke.

"Of course I did! What do you think I am? An idiot?" she snapped.

"It makes me want to rip up my contract," Harry said through gritted teeth. "How could the Aurors do that? Kingsley must have said something to them about Draco's help."

Hermione sighed. Her knees were beginning to hurt from crouching on the hard marble floor.

"I don't know, Harry. I just don't know. I just want to be back there as soon as I can. I'll look into other avenues to get home. But please, for everyone's sake, don't rip up your contract. In the future, it's going to be you giving orders in the Auror office, and you're sure to do a much better job at ensuring the right people end up cuffed."

Harry looked grim but nodded along to her words.

"Well, stay safe, 'Mione. Let us know if there's anything we can do."

Hermione swallowed and hugged her daughter a little closer. "Please make sure Draco is all right. Don't let them throw him in Azkaban. I… I can't do this alone."

When she pulled her head out from the green flames, an immediate sense of calm washed over her. She had alerted her friends to the situation and had made arrangements for transportation home. As her heart rate began to return to normal, she felt more prepared to look for alternatives to get back to the UK before the next three weeks were up. Her parents could wait—they couldn't remember her, after all. What Hermione needed now was a quiet place to think. She knew she could think of an answer—she just needed some space.

Hermione began to stalk up and down the corridors of the Australian Ministry looking for some sort of little alcove where she could sit and think. It didn't help that as she walked, Shiloh began to fuss. Glancing at her watch, Hermione let out a groan of frustration. It was a little early for feeding time, but Shiloh _had_ spit up her breakfast after using the Portkey. It seemed as though she needed to add _privacy_ to the list of requirements for her thinking spot.

In the end, she settled for the women's loo. Thankfully, the one in the Atrium resembled the British Ministry's bathrooms in its layout. Beyond the stalls, it had a little powder room attached, and Hermione settled onto one of the pink, overstuffed armchairs that lined the walls. Pulling Shiloh out of the chest carrier and setting it aside, Hermione unbuttoned her blouse and settled Shiloh into her arms. The baby sucked greedily, her whimpers subsiding the instant she began to eat. Sitting in the near-silence, Hermione allowed herself a moment to cry.

Hot tears spilled down her cheeks, a few dripping onto the top of Shiloh's head. She hastily wiped them with her sleeve. Her shoulders shook as all the events of the last few minutes—had it only been a few minutes?—sunk in.

Why weren't they allowed to try and move past the war like everyone else? Were they doomed to live in the shadow of it for the rest of their lives, always afraid that someone would lash out at them?

The thought made Hermione shudder. At the same time, her forearm began to prickle. She resisted the urge to touch it.

They had to move on—do their best to, in any case.

Hermione sniffed and wiped her face with her free hand. Slowly, she felt all her panic and anxiety slowly drain from her. She had to breathe and focus if they were ever going to move on. She had to focus on the facts. Facts were what helped her get through situations in the past, and they were what would help her now.

Draco was in custody back in Britain.

The next available Portkey wasn't for three weeks.

How could she get back sooner?

She could make her own Portkey illegally. She had studied the theory and knew generally how to make one. Frankly, she was confident in her ability to successfully create a Portkey that led her to the correct destination. However, there was one big downside to this idea: creating non-registered Portkeys was incredibly illegal. If she got caught, she could end up in Australian prison.

With a baby in tow, that wasn't exactly the greatest idea. One of Shiloh's parents was already under arrest. She didn't need a second parent in the same situation.

But how else could she get back to Britain?

Apparition was out. The distance was too far between Australia and any mainland to make international Apparition possible.

So was Floo. She had reached beforehand, and while fire calls were allowed, full-body transportation by Floo powder was impossible.

She really wasn't comfortable flying by broom or any other means with a baby strapped to her chest.

But how else was there?

Hermione sat in contemplative silence as she maneuvered Shiloh onto her other breast. She took a moment to feel grateful that the pain of nursing had faded by now. It would have been awfully distracting to have raw nipples in addition to all this mental pressure.

Shiloh finished her meal and detached herself. As Hermione winded her daughter, an idea hit her.

Muggles.

They traveled internationally, didn't they?

All she would have to do is go to the airport and get a plane ticket. She could transfer some money and convert it to muggle money. That would certainly take less than three weeks. She could be back tomorrow if she wanted. Yes. This certainly was the solution.

A new determination filled her as she strapped her daughter once more.

Yet, even as she made her way toward the exit, cracks in her plan began to appear. To travel internationally in the Muggle world, a passport was required. Neither of them had these documents, and surely, they would take some time to acquire. And there would be simply too many people involved in too public a place to continually cast _Confundus_. No, that was a risky plan as well.

If she knew anything about her boyfriend, it was that he didn't like it when she took risks. Draco would want her back as soon as possible, but not if it meant putting themselves at risk. No, Hermione imagined he would rather she wait out those three weeks rather than do something that could possibly be dangerous.

Hermione sighed. Muggle transportation was out, then.

It seemed as though that three week waiting period was now inevitable. Though her stomach squirmed with guilt, her mind flew immediately to her parents. She could check in with Harry and Ron each day about Draco's situation and would be at his side immediately upon his return. With any luck, he would be out even before then. If any ideas occurred to her, she would make her way back sooner, but in the meantime, it wouldn't hurt to use these three weeks to look for her parents.

After ensuring the two of them were dressed for an Australian winter, Hermione exchanged her money and exited the Ministry. She found herself on the streets of Sydney without a real plan or even a map. But, she supposed, she would start with a phone book.

After a few minutes of wandering around, she came across a telephone box. Slipping inside, she began to page through the thick volume. Though she hadn't really a clue where in Australia her parents had settled, she figured Sydney was a good place to start.

Sure enough, under 'W' she found what she was looking for: Wilkins, Wendell and Monica. Hermione ran the pad of her finger along their names… their aliases, really. Seeing their new names written down brought a whole new layer of longing into Hermione's heart. Though she understood that her actions had likely saved their lives, it felt odd to know that their friends here in Australia only knew them by these fake names.

Shaking her head, Hermione stared at the address, trying to commit it to memory. 85 Anemone Lane.

It was where she would find her parents. Would it really be so simple?

She was able to hail a taxi within minutes, and the driver seemed to be familiar with the street name. As she rode through the streets of Sydney, she was reminded of the last two times she had ridden in a taxi. Back then, all those months ago, she had been on her way to see a doctor. Sitting in this similar backseat, those same emotions came rushing back: the anxiety, the anticipation, the fear…

Hermione had to wrap her arms around her daughter to remind herself that the little girl was now outside her womb and safely in the world.

Thankfully, Shiloh slept through the whole taxi ride. This extra quiet allowed her time to recall the volumes of information she had read on Obliviation reversal. The theory behind this magical procedure was incredibly complex; Hermione still wasn't sure she had mastered it. Yet, there was no time to fret over theory now. She now had a deadline to meet. Of course, if she failed to restore her parents' memories before then, she could always return. But still… the memory of Draco's face as he was led away… the pain reflected in his eyes… the pure terror…

The last thing she wanted to do was tear herself apart from him. Not again.

No, if Hermione failed, she would give up for now. She would focus on her family and school and wouldn't come back to Australia until she was ready to restore her parents' memories.

It would be difficult, but then again, she had grown quite good at compartmentalizing her problems in the past year. Even now, she tried to push her worries about Draco to the side and focus on the task at hand.

That is, she tried.

Every blond man on the sidewalk that the taxis past looked like Draco. Every young father brought a pang to her heart. Hermione forced herself to look away from the window and down at her daughter, fast asleep and oblivious to her mother's woes.

"We'll be home with Daddy soon, love," she mumbled into her daughter's sweet-smelling hair. "You'll be getting your early-morning nappy changes with Daddy soon enough."

When the taxi pulled up to Anemone Lane, Hermione paid the driver and got out. Number 85 was a simple house with beige siding and a red roof. It was surrounded by a picket fence.

Hermione thought it looked rather charming.

Still, no place her parents lived in would ever compare to their real home back in the UK.

Her arms clutched around Shiloh, Hermione strode toward the front door. With each step she took, her pulse increased. She was about to see her family—her family that she hadn't seen for nearly a year. So much had changed. She had changed.

Hermione's heart beat in her throat, try as she might to push it down.

Taking a deep breath, she knocked.

The sound reverberated inside, and Hermione waited for a response. Footsteps or a call of "Be just a mo'!" perhaps. Her fingers itched with the anticipation of seeing her parents again – of hugging them. She repeated like a mantra in her mind that they wouldn't know her. Not immediately, anyway.

She waited. And waited. And waited some more.

She knocked again.

Still no response.

Perhaps they weren't home? It was a Saturday morning, so they wouldn't be at work…

"Are you looking for the Wilkins'?" a voice called from nearby.

Hermione whipped her head around to see an older woman standing on the front porch of the house next door.

"Erm, yes. I am, actually."

"Well you're hardly likely to find them home," the woman chuckled, walking to the edge of her porch closest to Hermione's parents' house.

"And that would be because…?" Hermione narrowed her eyes, wrapping an arm around Shiloh.

The woman seemed to be sizing her up; she spent a moment dwelling on the babywearing carrier on her chest. Whatever she concluded, it had to be positive, because she continued to speak.

"Monica and Wendell decided to travel this winter."

Hermione blinked, her heart sinking. She licked her lips.

"Erm, it's rather urgent. Can you tell me where they're traveling?"

The woman tilted her head and leaned forward. "May I ask who you are?"

"I'm… I'm their niece, Hermione… Wilkins." Hermione answered quickly. "There must have been some miscommunication, because I thought I was supposed to come and visit in June."

"Oh dear," the woman tutted. "Well, I can tell you that they're not going to be back for some time. They decided to pack up their dental practice for the winter and travel around to more rural areas to provide services for those without access. At least that's what they told me. Bought a van and everything."

A van? Her parents were traveling around the outback in a van?

Suddenly her three-week deadline seemed oppressively close.

"Did they… did they leave you any sort of contact information?" Hermione coughed.

"Yes. As a matter of fact, I do. Not a phone number or anything, but an itinerary or sorts."

Hermione's breath hitched, but she did her best to mask her surprise. "Oh, could I please take a look? It would be such a big help."

The woman looked down at Shiloh once again and sighed. "Well, I can't very well leave you out here, can I? It looks like it's about to rain. Come over, dearie, and let's see what we can figure out."

Shooting her parents' neighbour a grateful look, she stepped closer to what she hoped would be helpful information.

She only hoped it would be enough to find and help her parents quickly so she could get back to Draco as soon as possible.

Draco stared at the stone wall of his holding cell, unblinking. He hadn't looked away from this one spot for hours. How had it come down to this? Hadn't everything been squared away after the war?

He had finally had a life he was proud of: a girlfriend, a daughter, a future…

Had it all just been some sort of cruel fever dream?

The horrible voice in the back of his head hadn't stopped whispering spiteful words to him since the Aurors had thrown him in here two days ago.

_You always knew you'd end up here. _

_This is payback for torturing those Muggles. You deserve this. _

_Shiloh doesn't deserve a dad like you, anyway. She'll be better off with you locked up. _

These thoughts had circulated around his brain nonstop until he could hardly think anything else. They hadn't even stopped when Harry and Ron came to visit him.

"Are you listening, Draco?" Harry pressed. "We're going to get you out of here."

"Sure," he mumbled, unfocused eyes never leaving the same spot.

"Your mother was released almost immediately," encouraged Ron. "We'll talk to Kingsley. He'll be on your side."

"And Hermione – she'll be back as soon as she can. She Flooed us nearly right after she left–"

Hermione's best friends continued to try and comfort him for some time before they apparently gave up and left. He didn't really know. He hadn't been paying attention.

_Shiloh doesn't deserve a dad like you, anyway._

Draco groaned and grimaced. He was supposed to be in Australia with Hermione right now, celebrating their new life with a little adventure. Sure, they were mainly there to restore her parents' memories, but he had always wanted to see the night sky from the Southern hemisphere. He had been quietly looking forward to stargazing with Hermione – getting away from all the things that weighed them down here in Britain.

Reality always had a funny way of catching up to him, didn't it?

Closing his eyes and leaning back against the cell wall, Draco fought back tears.

He just missed Hermione. He missed his daughter. He even missed her nappy blow-outs.

An inadvertent chuckle bubbled up in his throat at the thought of his daughter's last mess, just a few days previously. The smell had been so horrendous that he had practically retched. He had tried to convince Hermione that it was officially her godfather's turn to try a nappy change, but she had refused to torture Ron in that fashion.

In the moment, he had been bitter at his girlfriend for not letting him hand over his daughter for just a moment.

But now, he was grateful for those precious memories, even if they did involve wiping poo from his daughter's bum. And back. And arms.

Gods, it had been disgusting.

But he would change a thousand disgusting nappies if it meant he could just go home.

Draco ran his hands down his face and rested them at the nape of his neck.

He paused.

Beneath his fingers sat a familiar chain. How had ne not thought of this before now?

Immediately, his heart rate sped up. Tugging the chain upward and out from under his shirt, he held the trinket before his eyes. Draco stared at the pebble – their pebble. It dangled before him like a beacon of hope.

This pebble had saved him during the war. It kept him going. Perhaps… just perhaps it could do the same now.

He wrapped his fist around the smooth surface and squeezed lightly, praying.

Seconds passed. Minutes.

Draco felt a familiar bitterness creep into the back of his mouth. The voice returned in a whisper.

_You deserve this._

He shut his eyes, willing it all to disappear. The voice. The cell. The goddamn Ministry of Magic.

And then from beneath his palm, he felt the pebble heat up in a blaze of blessed warmth.

Draco jumped and nearly dropped the thing, managing to catch it just before it hit the cold, damp floor. Returning it to his hand, he squeezed again and again.

_I'm thinking of you. I miss you. I'll be okay. Please come home._ He tried to convey all these thoughts with just the pulsating warmth he was sending to Hermione.

She wasn't the brightest witch her age for nothing. She'd know. She'd have to know.

He could only wait here in this dank, dark holding cell and pray she did.

The woman next door – Mrs. Hobbs – had given Hermione a rather detailed itinerary of the Wilkins' three-month excursion into remote Australian communities. According to her, communication in such rural areas was spotty at best, so they had left her with the itinerary "just in case."

Their camping van had been converted into a portable version of their dental clinic, Wilkins' Wide Smiles. According to the itinerary, her parents had been driving around in it for over a month already. They had been scheduled to arrive in a community called Kiwirrkurra yesterday.

Hermione had promptly thanked Mrs. Hobbs and said her goodbyes, despite the woman's protest that she stay for lunch.

What followed next was quick thinking. She found a quiet park bench to sit on and pulled out one of the Australian guide books she and Draco had purchased in preparation for this trip. Flipping through the pages, she folded the map of Australia open and studied it. The community in question, Kiwirrkurra, was quite isolated. Still, she knew its location now. There was only one thing to do.

Pulling out her breastfeeding cover, she draped it over her and Shiloh, who remained blissfully unaware of anything happening around her. Hermione had quickly discovered since giving birth that people tended to look away when she fed Shiloh. Once she had the cover in place, she drew her wand from her pocket and closed her eyes.

_Destination. Determination. Deliberation. _

When Hermione reappeared, she only made a brief visual sweep to ensure she was alone before tending to her daughter, who had screamed the second they landed. The little girl had never Apparated before. Hermione had sympathy; Apparation was unpleasant for any witch or wizard, let alone a baby. She took advantage of the breastfeeding cover and comfort nursed Shiloh until she fell back into a blissful milk coma. With her daughter successfully cared for, she tucked away the cover and took in her surroundings properly for the first time. She found herself surrounded by nothing but red dirt and tall, dry grass. Whereas Sydney had been filled with the bustling sounds of a city, here, she found only silence.

After spending so long fighting in a war, she didn't trust silence.

In the distance, Hermione saw what appeared to be a town. That had to be it. Adjusting Shiloh, she marched forward.

As she approached, the little community with red dirt-stained white roofs began to take shape. A handful of kids were playing outside, kicking a ball around. Outside of that small cluster of buildings and children, the vast outback stretched to eternity.

And then she saw it: a camping van parked on the edge of town.

A logo had been painted on its exterior that looked eerily to the one that had adorned countless toothbrushes and notepads littering her home growing up.

Pink and mint green, with a single molar in the middle.

There was no mistaking who would be awaiting her inside.

She could have chosen that moment to freeze or to turn around and take deep, gulping breaths until she convinced herself that this was a horrible idea.

But she hadn't been sorted into Gryffindor for nothing.

Instead, she continued forward. With each step Hermione took, she composed a list in her head of all the reasons this wasn't a horrible idea.

One. Her parents had a whole life they were missing in Britain.

One hundred meters.

Two. Draco missed hugs from her mum. She could tell.

Seventy meters.

Three. They deserved to know their precious granddaughter.

Fifty meters.

Four. They would be perfectly safe now.

Twenty meters.

Five. Her parents would surely miss her if they knew.

Five meters.

Six. She just missed her mum and dad. Plain and simple.

One meter.

Hermione paused just outside the door to the camping van, her knuckle paused just inches away. Her heart sat in her throat, unmoving and almost blocking off her breathing.

She had survived torture and battles and birth. Certainly, she could knock on a door.

Steeling herself, Hermione closed the gap. Her fist made contact with the metal door, and the sound echoed.

"Just a mo'!" she heard a familiar voice call.

Hermione could have cried.

_Dad. _

Immediately, memories of her father flooded her vision. She shook with emotion, blinking back tears.

"How can I help…oh!" Dad stuck his head out of the camper van. He looked just as she remembered him: short, brown hair, a button-up shirt and khakis, and a warm smile. Hermione's brain froze as she struggled to find words.

"Can I help you, ma'am?" Dad asked. "I haven't seen you around here before. You aren't a local, are you?"

A direct question. She could answer that.

"No, sir. I'm not."

"Aha. Is that a British RP accent I detect?"

Swallowing, Hermione inhaled through her nose. She could do this. She just had to get inside the van so she could perform the counter-charm behind closed doors.

"Yes, actually. It is. I'm on holiday. I was camping nearby and I heard you were hosting a dental clinic. I was hoping to talk to you about, erm… well, about my daughter."

She indicated Shiloh, who had begun to squirm and fuss against her chest once more.

"Your daughter? How can we help? She looks a bit young to see us."

Hermione inwardly cursed. She hadn't done much research yet on baby teeth.

But she could use that deficit to her advantage.

"I… was just wondering if I could ask you about dental care for my baby. I don't know what I'm doing, and I'm afraid that if I don't get it right, she could end up with odd-looking teeth." Hermione lied coolly, a demure smile on her face.

From behind her dad, another face appeared.

_Mum. _

She looked just the same as well.

Hermione resisted the urge to beam.

"So you're looking for some reassurance and advice?" her mum asked. "I'm not opposed to that. Come on in, dear."

Even though she went by a new name now, her mum was still the example of kindness she had always known her to be.

Hermione stepped up into the camper van as her dad held the door open for her. The movement seemed to have startled Shiloh, because she began to whimper.

"Shhh, darling. It's all right," she cooed at the little girl, unstrapping her. "These nice dentists are going to have a look at your mouth."

"What a darling baby," simpered her mum. "How old is she?"

"She's about five weeks," answered Hermione as she cradled her daughter in her arms. "But she was born three weeks early."

Hermione's insides began to twist with nerves as she steeled herself for what she was about to do. For all her courage, she wished that Draco could be here, squeezing her hand, reassuring her. A fresh pang of grief rolled over her when she recalled exactly why he wasn't here.

But this wasn't a moment to get distracted with her pain. She had to focus to do this spellwork properly.

"My goodness! So little," said her dad, reaching forward to play with Shiloh's toes. "Well, let's get a good look inside your mouth." He beamed at the baby before looking up to address Hermione. "Just set her down on the counter over here."

Hermione followed her parents into part of the van that looked like an exam room. It was nearly identical to the ones she had spent so much time in while growing up. Following her dad's instructions, she laid Shiloh down on the countertops that lined the side of the examination area. Her parents leaned over Shiloh's upper body while Hermione kept her daughter still by holding onto her legs.

"All right, little girl. Let's take a look!"

As her parents concentrated on her daughter, Hermione withdrew her wand from her back pocket. Silently. Slowly. Fighting to keep her hand steady. She had studied the theory. She had practiced the wand movement and felt the words on her lips countless times.

This was it. She aimed her wand and took a deep breath.

After over a week in the same clothes, Draco could tell he was beginning to stink. He could actually smell himself, and it wasn't a pleasant odor.

Not even during the war had he gone through a stint this long without a bath.

The one thing that kept him going was his continued connection to Hermione. It was nothing short of a miracle that she had turned their pebbles into necklaces for his birthday. Even if he didn't know exactly what was happening with his girlfriend or daughter, feeling warmth radiating from the pebble whenever he woke up and before he went to sleep reassured him that she was still out there, somewhere, thinking of him.

That knowledge kept hope beating in his chest, even when an Auror had stomped down to his holding cell to announce that he would be going to trial the next day.

It kept the faintest glimmer of optimism in his normally dour heart as he was dragged from that cell into a massive courtroom.

When chains snaked around his ankles and wrists, tying him to a simple, wooden chair in the middle of the chamber, he tried to picture Hermione's kind face. He tried to hear her reassuring voice in his ear, telling him that everything was going to be all right.

However, when the trial opened with a few members of the Wizengamot demanding for his immediate removal to Azkaban, that hope began to fade.

"He's the son of Death Eater scum who belongs in the trash with his father!" he heard one particularly indignant wizard yell.

"He deserves to rot for torturing those poor Muggles," insisted a haughty witch.

"Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater in my book," sneered a younger man.

With each insult spat his way, Draco felt his already-shaky self-image crumble. The voices that had been whispering horrific things to him grew louder with each derision that was hurled at him. Involuntarily, he began to curl into himself, unable to look up from his own lap.

_Think of Hermione. Think of Shiloh. _

"I heard that he had the nerve to reproduce!" A new voice sniffed from amidst the crowd. "We can't have him indoctrinating a new generation. For the sake of the magical community, Mr. Malfoy shouldn't have any sway over his _spawn's _upbringing."

He should have been outraged. He should have lunged out of this damn chair and strangled whoever had said those words.

And he wanted to.

But the voice in his head – Hermione's voice – was growing louder by the second. Draco wanted to throw his hands over his ears, squeeze his eyes shut, and pretend like none of this was going on, but he couldn't do that either.

Instead, the pit in his stomach grew larger with each abusive word said about him until he felt that there wasn't much left of Draco Malfoy sitting on the courtroom floor except the empty shell of a man.

If only the floor would open up and swallow him whole.

Though Draco was vaguely aware of actual arguments in his favour taking place above him, he couldn't hear them. Not really. The others had drowned those voices out.

It wasn't until he heard a familiar voice address the crowd that he lifted his head to properly pay attention to the event that was set to change his future.

"…you'd find that Mr. Malfoy quickly adapted and had valid reasons to fight against Voldemort."

Draco flinched at the name. There was only one person who was foolish enough to use it so brazenly in a crowd like this; only one person who could be allowed to even think about pulling a stunt like it.

_Potter._

He took deep breaths and focused his ears, trying to listen to Harry's words.

"I watched the way that Draco changed over the course of those several months. Though I wasn't in contact with him directly for most of it, I saw the way he acted this past March when we all escaped from Malfoy Manor. I saw his desperation to escape and the toll it had taken on him to be there."

Harry was defending him. Properly.

Draco looked up.

The boy wonder addressed the Wizengamot directly, his face dead serious. What a strange turn this world had taken, to see Harry Potter, himself, defending him in court.

"Do you deny the allegations that Mr. Malfoy cast the Cruciatus curse multiple times throughout his stay at Malfoy Manor?" accused an older witch.

"Of course I don't. But under the circumstances, I can't imagine he had options other than to follow orders. He was just trying to survive."

"Young man," the same witch began, leaning over her small podium to address Harry directly. "There are a great number of witches and wizards who would give their lives _and did_ before they bowed to the whims of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

Draco watched in awe, slack-jawed, as Harry stared back, unblinking, his own jaw set.

"Draco Malfoy did what he did to protect his family. The crimes he committed, while horrible, were the result of an attempt to not just survive, but live. After he began to see Miss Granger, I saw a change in him. Even if I didn't recognize it for what it was at the moment, it was there."

Harry sighed and looked over at him, his green eyes shining with honesty.

"Draco Malfoy used to be a boy who was lost and confused as to what was right and wrong. But that's exactly what he was. Merely a boy. The events of this past year have made him a man. They've made adults out of many children. And when I look at the man he's become – the father that he is – he deserves the opportunity to live that good life he suffered to create."

The witch behind the podium sniffed.

"Thank you, Mr. Potter."

Draco eyed the woman, and thought she looked stiff and unimpressed.

"Is there anyone else who can speak to the character of the defendant?"

In that moment, Draco wished more than anything to have Hermione by his side. She knew him inside and out. She could speak to his character – could attest that he wasn't his father.

But it looked like Potter would be it.

Members of the Wizengamot kept whispering to one another, occasionally shooting him disdaining looks. Draco braced himself for a disappointing ending to his trial.

"Excuse me," came a breathless voice of another witch. "I would like to act as a character witness for Draco Malfoy."

Draco whipped around to his righthand side.

There, in the doorway stood Molly Weasley. His heart soared.

"Molly Prewitt Weasley, wife of Arthur Weasley of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Department. I believe you are familiar with our family."

Draco noticed immediately that Molly looked… worn. Her hair was frazzled and there were bags under her eyes that he had never seen before. She had hardly left the Burrow in weeks, overcome by grief, so her appearance was understandable. To see her here, at the Ministry, ready to defend him with fire in her eyes… Draco felt something within him far beyond gratitude—beyond any single word in his vocabulary.

Louder, more obvious whispers broke out amongst the members of the Wizengamot.

"Ah, yes, Mrs. Weasley. We do know who you are–"

"Then I'm sure you're aware of the opinion I have of dark wizards at this time."

Silence swept over the crowd.

"I would never waste my breath defending anyone who I believed to be a risk to our community."

A sneering voice piped up from behind the witch at the podium. "Molly, you just lost your son. Don't you think you might be too distraught to properly–"

"Don't you dare accuse me of feeling a certain way or being incapable of doing what I know is right!" Molly Weasley's face shone with pure rage. "The people responsible for my son's death are dead. Do you think that for one second I would defend someone who I believe whole-heartedly meant to cause pain to others, like those men did to my family?"

Draco could have heard a bowtruckle fall to the ground, it was so quiet.

"While Harry can speak to the beginning and end of Draco's journey this past year, I can attest to the middle. I watched Draco Malfoy transform from a sullen boy unsure of his path to one who wanted to do right by himself and by others around him. He is empathetic and capable of great kindness. And he's a new father. I've seen the way he interacts with his daughter, and he is a wonderful parent. The true crime would be to separate those two, and for that little girl to never properly know her dad."

Draco had never seen Mrs. Weasley look so indignant. And to think it was on his behalf? A wave of emotion flooded his body, nearly drowning the horrible words that had taken refuge there.

"Draco Malfoy deserves the chance to live a good life," Mrs. Weasley declared, her own voice shaking slightly. "He deserves a chance to continue to grow into the man he is capable of being. And what would it say about our society if we condemned young people as rotten from the start?"

Silence dominated the room once more.

"Well then," mumbled a wizard. "Thank you for your testimony, Mrs. Weasley. If that is all, we shall adjourn for now. This council will reconvene one week from today with a verdict."

He banged the gavel on the podium and noise erupted in the courtroom immediately.

Draco shot a grateful look at both Mrs. Weasley and Harry as the chains fell away from his ankles and wrists. Before he had the chance to call out to them or to thank them properly, two Aurors flanked him on either side and dragged him back toward the dank, dark holding cell.

It had been two weeks since Hermione had reversed her parents' memories.

Two long, painful weeks.

As it turned out, reversing their obliviation hadn't been nearly as difficult as she imagined. After all that study, it was rather straightforward, actually.

Her parents' eyes had clouded for a moment as they stood over Shiloh. But with a shake of their heads, they had looked up at her, their own daughter, with a spark of recognition.

"H-Hermione?" Mum had spluttered, confusion in her narrowed eyes. "What's going on? Where have you been?"

Both her parents were so focused on her that their grip loosened on her daughter. The little girl's whimpering quickly morphed into screams. Her little arms flailed about in distress.

Hermione hurried and scooped up Shiloh, cuddling the baby to her chest. Though Hermione shushed her daughter, she continued to wail.

Very aware of her parents' eyes boring into her, Hermione whispered soft words of comfort.

"There, there, sweet girl. It's all right. Mummy's got you."

Hermione looked up to see her parents exchanging significant looks. Though she had never seen her father cry, tears filled his eyes as he turned back to face her.

"Hermione, darling? What's going on? Whose baby is that?"

Hermione let out a soft whimper of her own before the whole story came spilling out. Shiloh's cries grew louder. She tried to quell them as she regaled everything that had happened in the last year.

The war. Obliviation. Draco. Horcrux hunting.

When Hermione reached the part of her story about her pregnancy, she hesitated, unsure how her parents would react.

"She's your daughter, isn't she?" Mum whispered in a voice so quiet it was barely there. "Yours and Draco's."

Hermione nodded.

"I see."

An awkward silence fell between the three adults as Shiloh continued to whinge.

Her father was the first to speak up. "Do you need to take care of the baby? She seems uncomfortable."

"Erm, yes. I think she needs a nappy change," Hermione explained. "We can keep talking if you like. While I'm doing it, that is."

Her parents had expressed disappointment. Anger, even. They never yelled, though.

Their only reactions had been questions and heavy sighs.

She wished they would yell, though. A part of her wished they would scream or cry or even throw something. Anything – _anything_ – would be preferable to this cold, apathetic reaction.

The ice between her and her parents remained, even after they invited her to remain with them as they traveled around in their camper van. They claimed they needed time to reacquaint themselves with the new Hermione.

She saw right through that.

They didn't trust her. It was understandable, really. She had altered their memories significantly without their consent using powers they hadn't ever truly been able to fathom. Hermione saw the way her dad looked at her through cautions, sideways glances; she saw the way Mum whispered the same phrase over and over to herself like a mantra whenever she first woke up: "Your name is Jean Granger. _Jean Granger_."

Earning back their trust would take time. Lots of time.

Hermione decided to do what she could.

She offered to help with the business as best as she could, filing paperwork and booking appointments during their short stay in each community they visited. And all without magic, of course. Her parents made her promise to do things the muggle way while she was visiting.

"I'm – we're just not ready to trust you with a wand yet," her mother insisted in a clipped tone one evening as they sat in awkward silence at the dinner table.

Hermione nodded with understanding. She had to take what she could get. It wasn't much, but it was better than getting kicked out or failing to reverse their memories.

Doing everything the Muggle way meant that all her work took extensive amounts of time. It was relatively mindless. While that sort of work may have been a relief to some, it only brought Hermione compounding anxiety. Her thoughts landed on Draco more often than not, and with plenty of time on her hands as she filed paperwork alphabetically in cabinets, her mind tended to wander to places it shouldn't.

Draco, alone. Draco, scared. Draco, in Azkaban. Draco, thinking his girlfriend had abandoned him.

The thoughts in her head swirled around so much that sometimes she just broke down, her heart and lungs seizing as she panicked. When it got that bad, she would excuse herself and take a walk on the outskirts of the village. She didn't want Mum and Dad to see how much her worries troubled her. They already had enough on their plates, trying to come to terms with their daughter's horrible actions.

Hermione couldn't imagine explaining to them that their granddaughter's father could be labeled a war criminal.

But then, just imagining Draco, all alone, facing that label, summoned an even deeper sense of worry.

The worry had even begun seeping into her dreams, waking her in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. She fumbled for the pebble around her neck, holding it fast in her palm until it warmed. With its comfort radiating in her grip, Hermione was usually able to fall back asleep. Usually.

If there was one positive that came out of this mess, it was her parents' reaction to Shiloh. Shocked though they were to find out that their eighteen year-old daughter had gotten pregnant and had a baby, they had taken to her little girl right away.

It made Hermione's heart stutter to watch her mum cuddle her in the evening and to hear her dad call Shiloh 'sweetpea.'

She couldn't help but watch with a slight air of envy. It made sense that her parents were still angry at her, but was it too much to ask for a little cuddle from her mum and dad? This past year had been a lot, and with a newborn in tow, she hadn't really had the proper time to sit down and process it all. In the back of her mind, she knew that a hug from her parents wouldn't fix it all. She had Draco, after all. And Harry and Ron. And Mrs. Weasley, of course.

But none of them quite filled the space in her heart that she knew her parents would.

So she did whatever they needed as they moved from community to community over the next couple of weeks, hoping that somehow, they'd find it in their hearts to forgive her before her Floo appointment back to London.

As the days to her departure drew closer, Hermione's anxiety about Draco built higher and higher. She tossed and turned between Shiloh's feedings in the makeshift bed she had made out of sofa cushions in the front of the van. When she wasn't dwelling on her ruined relationship with her parents, the precious little time she was able to close her eyes, visions of Draco being led away by Aurors played over and over in her head.

Given the lack of Floo access in rural Australia, she hadn't been able to contact anyone in Britain since her first day. She had continual thoughts of owling, but no bird could fly to the other side of the world and back within that time frame. She had no idea what was happening with Draco. Was he still in custody? Had he been taken to Azkaban? Had there even been a trial?

Not being with Draco was difficult, but not knowing anything about what was going on was eating her alive.

She picked at her meals.

She hardly slept.

Mum commented about bags under her eyes and the way she pushed her eggs around her plate.

Hermione shrugged it off, though what she really wanted to do was to sob into her mum's shoulder and vent all her frustrations. She couldn't help but wonder if the simple act of her mum rubbing gentle circles into her back would somehow make some of this pain go away.

She never found out.

Hermione suffered in tortured silence as her parents tiptoed around her distress. The only thing tethering her to her sanity was the countdown to her return to England.

Two and a half weeks after her arrival, she informed her parents of her need to use the Floo as they lingered at the table after breakfast.

Her parents winced at the magical reference and Hermione felt her heart sink. They used to love it when she talked about anything from 'her world.'

"How soon do you need it, dear? It's a full day's drive to the nearest city," Mum asked as she gathered plates.

"My… erm… transportation back is in four days. As long as I get to the Floo early that morning, I'll be fine."

"Is it safe for a baby to travel by Floo?" Dad glanced over at cot Hermione had insisted she transfigure.

"She'll be fine. She might spit up when we land, but that's nothing I can't handle."

"Well, if you say so. We have to stock up on some supplies anyway, so I suppose it won't be too difficult to make a trip into Perth."

Hermione grinned and reached across the table to squeeze her dad's hand. "Thanks, Dad. It really means a lot that you're helping me out like this."

He squeezed back.

"Of course, darling."

"And you're welcome to come back to the UK whenever you like. Like I said, the war's over and you'd be… erm… you'd be safe."

The words died in Hermione's throat as she watched her dad's expression shift to one of apprehension.

"I… I don't know, Hermione. Your mum and I… we've made a life for ourselves here in Australia. And with your… well, with your magic, you can bring Shiloh to visit any time."

Hermione pursed her lips. He hadn't mentioned her visiting. Or Draco. Just Shiloh. She bit back the bitter words that were bubbling up inside her and kept their talk to pleasantries alone. There was no need to burn bridges. Not ones that were already crumbling anyway.

"All right, Dad. That's fine."

Four days later, after spending a night in a hotel with a fireplace in each room, Hermione bid her parents goodbye. There were no emotional sentiments exchanged; no tears were shed. Except Shiloh's. But she just needed a nappy change.

Without knowing when or where she would see her parents again, Hermione threw a pinch of her Floo powder stash into the grate and stepped into the emerald flames. As she turned and saw her parents staring back, she couldn't help but notice the strange looks on their faces. It looked oddly like regret.

But then she heard herself say, "Australian Ministry of Magic," and their faces spun away, out of sight. Hermione's only consolation was that she now knew they were safe. There was no room for regret on her part. Even if their relationship would never be the same, she had saved their lives. And that would just be something she would have to live with.

Hermione stepped through to the lobby of the Australian Ministry with practiced grace before immediately turning around and making a Floo call to Harry's. It was nighttime over in the UK, and he was sure to be home at Grimmauld Place by now.

Sure enough, when she stuck her head through and called for her best friend, he appeared in short order.

"Hermione!" he cried. "Please say you're coming home. Is today the day?"

"Yes," she answered quickly. "My Portkey leaves in about thirty minutes. Is everything all right over there? How's Draco? I want to know before I arrive in case… in case…"

"He had a trial last week."

Hermione's stomach gave an uncomfortable lurch. "And?"

"The verdict was issued today." Harry licked his lips as he spoke, crouched down behind the kitchen table.

"_And?"_ She pressed Harry again, tears threatening to spill over onto her cheeks.

He gave her a watery smile of his own. "Cleared of all charges."

She gave a choked sob. "Are you serious? _How?_"

"You'll have to ask him for yourself. Take that portkey and get over to The Burrow as soon as you can."

Hastily nodding, Hermione withdrew from the flames. She wiped her face and cradled Shiloh to her chest as she stood.

Draco had been cleared. Completely cleared.

Hermione didn't remember making her way to the Portkey Office. She didn't remember filling out all the necessary paperwork. She could hardly remember grabbing hold of an old, slightly lumpy pillow and spinning back toward home.

When she looked back on her day as she laid in bed at Shell Cottage that night, the only thing she really remembered was flying into Draco's arms as he walked out of the doorway to the Burrow and into the garden. He had been carrying a pitcher of pumpkin juice, which had promptly crashed to the ground, splashing them both with the sweet drink.

But that could be tended to later. In that moment, all she needed was to feel Draco's arms around her, strong and very, very real. She cried into his shoulder as he lifted the baby from Hermione's chest and cuddled her close.

"I thought I lost you," she murmured.

Words came later, followed by lips. He reassured her he was fine with his lips, sweet and loving. By the way he held her tight that night, it seemed he had needed this as much as she had.

They were each other's family now.

* * *

**Updates every other Saturday. Next update - March 28.**

**All your comments from last week were so encouraging. It was lovely to see so many familiar usernames and a treat to see many new ones!**

**So much love to you all 3 3**

**BiscuitsForPotter**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hi, friends. I hope you're all doing well and that this update brightened your inbox. Thanks as always to MsMerlin and GracefulLioness.**

* * *

The rest of July came and went with the usual sleep deprivation that accompanied having an infant. At thirteen weeks, Shiloh had finally begun to recognize that she had hands. She loved to stick them in her mouth and grab at anything in reach. That, of course, now included her mummy's hair.

Hermione switched to wearing her hair in a nearly-permanent bun to avoid having to detangle tiny fingers from her curls.

On the morning after Harry's eighteenth birthday party (which he and Ginny had left conspicuously early, much to Mrs. Weasley's chagrin), Hermione wiped sleep from her eyes as she tiptoed over to her daughter's cot, positioned in the corner of their bedroom at Shell Cottage. Shiloh was awake already, her bright grey eyes staring curiously at the snitch mobile Draco had transfigured for her. The little girl babbled and cooed as she looked up, her arms and legs flailing about.

"Good morning, my darling girl." Hermione lifted the baby into her arms. Shiloh squealed with delight. "You're looking so bright today, aren't you darling?" The baby cooed in response, flapping her chubby little arms.

Hermione delighted in her daughter. Yes, she was exhausted and yes, she was changing nappies instead of drinking shots of Firewhisky with friends, but she felt great purpose in caring for Shiloh. Her smiles filled her heart and her cute little noises lifted her up on her darkest days. She had even laughed for the first time just days ago. At Ron, of course. He had been making silly faces at his goddaughter when she let out her very first giggle. Ron had been so proud. Draco had been more than a little jealous.

Hermione loved being a mum. And yes, she still had no regrets.

But still, the question of what to do with her life loomed over her like a thunderstorm threatening to strike if she was unprepared.

She loved being a mum. Truly. But if she did _only_ that—became a stay-at-home mum, she thought she might go spare.

Harry and Ron had their path all figured out. Shortly after the war, they had received owls from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement offering them starting positions in the Auror Training Academy, no credential checks needed. They had been thrilled, naturally. Ron, especially. He hadn't batted an eye at the thought of not returning to school. It was a treat for him. After talking to Harry, she learned that he was also glad not to be going back. Not because he didn't like school—though, that was part of it. But rather Hogwarts now had too many ghosts for him. Harry wanted to move on. She got that.

As Hermione lowered herself into their rocking chair and unfastened her nightgown to nurse Shiloh, she thought about her own impending trip back to Hogwarts. School was where she belonged—had always belonged. There were rules there; things to learn. And books. Hogwarts had mountains of them that she hadn't even touched yet. A part of her would always eat away at her if she never graduated or received NEWT scores.

She couldn't be like Ron and Harry. She had to go back. It was in her nature to finish what she started.

And yet.

She continued to think as she switched Shiloh over to the other breast.

Why had the boys received job offers, and not her? She didn't have a false sense of self worth. She was smart, often helping both Ron and Harry in academics and during their years in that very same castle. She hadn't earned that dreadful nickname—'the brightest witch of her age'—for nothing. This lack sometimes ate away at her in quiet moments like this, when there was nothing but the sound of Shiloh's little breaths to distract her.

Draco chose this moment to give a great yawn and stretch out in the bed.

"Mooooorning," he said, rolling over onto his side and giving a sweet, sleepy grin. "Sleep all right?"

"Well enough. She only woke up twice last night. So that was nice."

Draco winced. "Sorry." He apologized like this most mornings. "I wish there was more I could do to help."

"It's fine." Hermione smiled sympathetically. "I know sleep is hard enough to come by for you."

Draco grunted in response as he sat up. Though he didn't like to talk about it, Hermione knew. How could she not when she shared a bed with him? Most nights, he spent half the time tossing and turning, his sleep littered with whimpers.

He had been getting nightmares for a while now—ever since he had come back from his time in the holding cell at the Ministry. Despite being cleared of all charges, Draco still believed himself to be deserving of some sort of punishment.

At least that's what Hermione hypothesized. After all, he still wouldn't talk about it. Not a peep since she'd come back.

They danced around the subject each morning. When she tried to offer comfort, Draco would just shrug it off, his eyes always focused somewhere else. Then he'd change the subject. The weather. Shiloh. Plans for that day. As much as Hermione wanted Draco to feel a sense of normalcy after everything that had happened to him, she couldn't help the nagging feeling that him bottling his feelings up would backfire.

"How's the little witch?" he asked, padding over toward the rocking chair. "Merlin, she looks bigger than she did yesterday."

Hermione peered down at Shiloh. "Does she? I hadn't noticed."

Draco stared at them for another minute as their daughter finished nursing. As Shiloh unlatched from her nipple, Draco reached for the baby to wind her. The baby draped over his shoulder, he gazed with wide eyes at Hermione, who still hadn't bothered to button her pyjama top.

"See something you like?" she asked with a laugh.

Draco waggled his eyebrows. "When was it exactly that the Healer said we could—?"

"She said we could at three months postpartum. My body needed lots of time to heal, don't you remember?"

Hermione leaned forward, raising her eyebrows. He was unbelievable. It seemed that there was little else he could think of in the mornings other than sex.

"Well, isn't three months postpartum tomorrow?" Draco's looked incredibly eager, his eyes wide and giddy as he winded Shiloh.

Hermione smiled back, albeit a bit more shyly. "It is."

"Well that settles it," he declared as Shiloh spit up into the flannel laid over his shoulder. "I'm taking you on a proper date. Tomorrow night. You'd better dress for the occasion, witch. I'm tired of sitting at home while everyone else goes out and has a good time."

Shaking her head, Hermione leaned back into the rocking chair. "And who on earth is going to watch Shiloh?"

"Well, she's got a godfather, hasn't she? Let him take the sprog for a few hours. That's plenty enough time for dinner, a walk in the park, and a good, long, hot shag."

Hermione felt her cheeks heat up as Draco's eyes bore into hers with such an intensity that she hadn't seen in months. She squeezed her thighs together, all the hairs on her arms stood on end as her entire body shivered.

Without breaking eye contact, Draco folded the spit-up flannel and tossed it in the laundry basket, where it landed with a soft _thump_.

Hermione was positive she had never seen anything so sexy in her life. At least, in her limited-experience, post-war, just-had-a-baby life.

Looking back at her boyfriend, she swallowed as he continued to bounce their daughter back and forth, his eyes still smoldering. Their gaze didn't break as he set Shiloh in her arms again.

"Tomorrow night, witch." Turning on his heel, Draco headed to the door, but before he walked out of their bedroom, he turned around briefly. "Don't forget."

Hermione cleared her throat. "Oh, I won't."

With a wink, he was out the door.

Sucking down several deep breaths, Hermione stared at the spot where Draco had just been.

This was her life now.

She shook her head and turned back to her daughter. "Well, Shiloh darling, what should we do today?"

The baby just cooed back at her.

"That's what I thought."

Two hours later, Hermione had Shiloh strapped to her chest as she prepared to Floo to the Ministry. She had decided what to do with her day: have a chat with someone at the Ministry about job prospects after taking the NEWTs. If they weren't going to send her an owl, then she would just have to go there herself.

She had asked Draco to accompany her, but he didn't exactly like going into public spaces these days. In the past month, he had turned down invitations to go to Diagon Alley, to a Quidditch match, and even to a Muggle shopping mall. Instead, he tended to stick to Shell Cottage and the Burrow as well as the nearby villages. Though Draco had been acquitted at the beginning of July, he was convinced that the majority of the Wizarding World still considered him a criminal.

Instead of letting it turn into a fight, Hermione just let him stay cooped up for now.

Today, he decided to head for the Burrow for a game of pickup Quidditch with Ginny, George, and Angelina Johnson. Rather than force him to constantly land his broom to check on the baby or saddle Mrs. Weasley with the infant, Hermione decided it was simpler to just bring Shiloh with her. Besides, she was exclusively breastfeeding as Shiloh was refusing a bottle completely, so Hermione couldn't be far from her for long. That would have to change once they headed back to Hogwarts and she had classes to attend, but for now it wasn't much of a hassle.

The atrium bustled with the click of shoes and the murmurings of employees as they passed by. Adjusting Shiloh in the carrier, Hermione joined the throng of people about their business as she made her way over to the lift. Though there were a handful of departments at the Ministry that intrigued her, it was the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures that really piqued her interest. In retrospect, tricking house elves by having them stumble into freedom hadn't been the best plan. At least from this department, she could fight for their rights in a more legitimate venue.

Thankfully, the other passengers in the lift seemed too immersed in their own business to notice that war hero Hermione Granger and her love child (as they had been referred to in _The Daily Prophet_ in recent weeks) were also aboard.

The lift arrived at level four; she exited along with a thick-mustached man who wore glasses that doubled his eyes in size. In his arms he held a cage of what appeared to be hiccoughing Cornish pixies. How odd.

No matter how bizarre, there was no time to ponder the mysteries of magical creatures—at least not today. Turning her attention away from the pixies, Hermione looked to the office at the end of the hallway: Department Head, Carlisle Bluster. She had inquired about him through Kingsley Shacklebolt. Apparently, he was a rather jovial fellow, even if some of his policies tended to be a bit barbaric.

Change came from the inside, though. And that's exactly the goal Hermione kept in her mind as she knocked on the Head's office.

"Come in!" a gruff voice called.

Hermione pushed the door open and poked her head inside. The office was in complete disarray, papers spilling from cabinets, piles of books threatening to tip over, and paper airplane memos floating near the ceiling.

Mr. Bluster, a heavyset man with a rather awful-looking blond toupee, sat amongst his mess, his face buried behind a report. It took a few moments for him to look up. When he did, he nearly jumped out of his seat.

"Good Lord, it's Hermione Granger. Please, please come in." The man grabbed a handkerchief from his robe pocket and dabbed at his sweaty face.

"Thank you, sir. I know I didn't owl beforehand, but I—"

Hermione froze as she watched the expression on his face shift from nearly giddy to crestfallen.

His eyes were no longer focused on her, but rather, on her torso.

Shiloh.

The baby had woken up, it seemed, and was staring around the office with wide eyes.

"Ah," Mr. Bluster said with pursed lips. "I see you brought the... erm... child with you."

"Yes, I did, actually. May I sit?" Hermione felt indignation bubble in her chest, but forced herself to tamp it down. This was not the time or place to throw a fit. She was, after all, inquiring about a job. Instead, she plastered a smile on her face and stepped all the way into the office, closing the door behind her. "Apologies, Mr. Bluster. I would have left her with her father, but she refuses the bottle. I can't get too far from her at the moment. We're working on it, though."

Carlisle Bluster's eyes grew to the size of galleons as she spoke. Perhaps that was too much information. She backtracked.

"What I really came to talk to you about today was the possibility of job prospects once I graduate. My friends, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley—I assume you've heard of them."

She paused here, giving Mr. Bluster a chance to hastily nod.

"Well they received job offers from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement shortly after the war ended. And it's not to say that I expect a job offer, after all. But I would just like to talk to you about a potential future here."

She ended her speech with a pointed, if hopeful look.

Shiloh picked that moment to scream happily and flail her arms about.

Mr. Bluster looked from Hermione to her daughter in quick succession, and she could practically see the cogs turning in his head.

"Well, ah, you see, Miss Granger," he began, pulling out his handkerchief to dab the sweat off his face again. "I appreciate your interest in our humble department. I would have suspected that someone such as yourself would have followed your friends into the Auror program."

"Oh, I've had enough of chasing Death Eaters, thank you very much," she responded. "I'd much prefer to fight for the rights of those who cannot fight for themselves."

Mr. Bluster grimaced. "I see. Well, under normal circumstances I would be delighted to have you among our ranks here, but—"

Hermione blinked as a pit formed in her stomach. "Normal circumstances, sir?"

"Well, you know."

He gestured vaguely to Shiloh.

The same bout of indignation in her chest bubbled up again, and this time she tried slightly less to keep it under wraps. Clearing her throat, she sat up straighter, adjusting her daughter in her arms and wiping away the drool that had gathered on her chin. Her eyes never left Mr. Bluster's.

She forced a saccharine smile on her lips, one she knew was too sweet to be anything but true. "I'm sorry, what exactly is it that I'm supposed to know?"

She was going to make him say it out loud. If he had the gall to call her out for having a child, then he had to admit it.

"Well, erm... Miss Granger, it has come to our attention here at the Ministry of Magic that you have, well…" The man continued to dab at his face as he searched for words that might explain the bias he so evidently felt.

It was really grating on her patience.

Forget tamping down her indignation.

"Oh, just out with it," she spat.

"You have a child, Miss Granger."

"Oh really? Oh yes, that's right. I just forgot that I pushed her out of me three months ago."

Mr. Bluster licked his lips, his eyes darting about the room.

"There are so many women at the Ministry with children. And I don't mean to sound arrogant, but I'm a fairly accomplished witch, even at age eighteen. I've got more research and field experience than many who are twice my age. So tell me, then, Mr. Bluster: _Why_ would I be overlooked for an entry level position when I'm clearly overqualified? And please, be specific."

Hermione was sure that if she could have fired _Diffindo_ from her eyes, she would have in that exact moment.

Carlisle Bluster looked close to breaking.

"Look," he sighed deeply. "If I may speak frankly. You do have experience, Miss Granger. And talent in spades. There is no doubt about that. But what there is doubt about is your character."

Hermione opened and closed her mouth several times as his words replayed in her mind, like they were stuck in a cavern as opposed to a dingy little office.

"M-my character?" she spluttered.

"Well, yes," he continued. "Befriending and fraternizing, so to speak, with a known Death Eater. Falling pregnant and giving birth to the child of that Death Eater all while fighting a war? It seems to me like your judgment leaves something to be desired. And it's not just me. If you speak to a number of Department Heads you'll find they'll take the same position."

Hermione felt her blood pressure spike as the man spoke. She was sure her face was red. Her hands wouldn't stop shaking.

"Mr. Bluster, I'm not sure if you noticed, but Draco Malfoy has been cleared of all charges. Harry Potter and Molly Weasley testified on his behalf over a month ago. And if that's not good enough for you, then I honestly don't think I would have been able to stand being in your employ, anyway."

Hermione stood and turned on her heel, her chin held high. Without so much as a second glance at his sweaty face, she marched from the room, back up the corridor, and toward the lift. As she waited for it to arrive, her chin fell down to her chest as she gave an angry sniff. The muscles in her jaw tensed and unwanted tears pooled in her eyes.

_Questionable character? That's why she hadn't received any job offers? _

She had given birth to a baby young. That wasn't a crime. It wasn't anything bad, even.

It just… was.

Would Mr. Bluster have questioned her character if Shiloh's father hadn't been Draco? Hermione stiffened, her jaw tightening further. It seemed that Draco's hesitancy to go into public spaces wasn't unfounded.

It wasn't fair. None of this was. Was the stigma of their actions during this past year going to follow them around for the rest of their lives?

The lift arrived with a ding. Hermione stepped inside, still looking determinedly downward over the top of Shiloh's thin patch of chocolate-coloured hair.

She felt silently thankful once more that Ministry employees were so focused on their work. That way, no one had to see hot, angry tears spilling down her cheeks.

By the time Hermione stepped through the emerald flames at the Burrow, she had managed to quell her tears. The sitting room of the Weasley family home brought welcome, quiet relief. Taking a deep breath, Hermione unstrapped her daughter from her carrier before summoning the special pillow she kept at the Burrow for Shiloh.

As the pillow zoomed through the kitchen toward her, she heard a surprised squeak from the other room.

"Oh, my dear, Hermione. Is that you?" Mrs. Weasley called. The Weasley matriarch poked her head through the doorway.

"Yes. I'm back."

The words rolled off her tongue with ease; coming back to the Burrow felt like a break in months of stormy weather. The air here was sweet, the soft tick of the clock and click of knitting needles comforting. Though of course, Hermione knew that so much had changed with the war – especially with the loss of Fred – coming back to the Burrow always felt somewhat like coming home. With the way life had been recently, Hermione hadn't had nearly enough time to appreciate how relieving it felt to visit.

The sounds of Mrs. Weasley bustling in the kitchen wafted into the sitting room as Hermione lowered herself onto the sofa. Despite her grief, Mrs. Weasley carried on, loving as always. Even though her eyes weren't as fierce or warm as they used to be, it was clear she was doing her best. It seemed that when she had Flooed back, Shiloh had somehow gotten the hiccoughs. The little girl made adorable little noises as Hermione held her over her shoulder and patted her back gently, trying to coax them away.

"Poor darling." Mrs. Weasley padded over to the sofa, a tea tray bursting with biscuits behind her. "Have you tried giving her a dummy?"

"Oh, erm. Not yet. _Accio dummy_."

As the little device flew through the air into her hand, Hermione couldn't help but notice that Mrs. Weasley was looking at her with an air of concern. Before she could open her mouth to assure her that she was all right, the woman spoke up.

"What happened, my dear?"

"I'm sorry?" Hermione turned to face Mrs. Weasley as she slipped the dummy into her daughter's mouth.

"I asked you what happened. Clearly, you're upset. Something is wrong."

It was just like her—just like a mother, really—to notice it. She had spent so much time with her friends who were lovely, really; but Harry, Ron, and even Draco weren't exactly the most perceptive.

There was no point denying it.

The whole story came spilling out: her jealousy of Harry and Ron receiving job offers; her trip to the Ministry; Mr. Bluster's horrid, embarrassing defaming of her character—everything. Through it all, Mrs. Weasley never looked away and never interrupted. She just sat, leaning forward, frowning and nodding in all the right points of the story.

"I just can't believe that a man that… that… closed-minded is in charge of a department meant to help magical creatures!"

Mrs. Weasley sniffed. "If it makes you feel any better, dear, I've never liked Carlisle Bluster. The man is completely horrible and always has been."

She reached forward and patted Hermione's back. "Several years ago, Arthur came across a bewitched dog collar—a Muggle invention. It was meant to shock misbehaving dogs. Well, someone had charmed it to work with magic. They were using the thing to control creatures. Hippogriffs and the like. Arthur wanted to write the report, punish those involved, dispose of the object, and be done with it. But Bluster saw otherwise. He thought they were a rather ingenious adaptation and instead of having them taken away and destroyed, he decided to put them to use in the department."

Hermione drew back, horrorstruck. "But that's completely barbaric."

Mrs. Weasley nodded her head. "I agree with you. But unfortunately, that's the way Bluster has chosen to run the department, and no one thinks it's worth their time to do something about it."

Shooting the Weasley matriarch another defeated look, Hermione leaned back on the cushions and closed her eyes.

"Hermione, my dear, don't worry about it now. You still have a whole year of school ahead of you, not to mention a baby to keep after. We only have so much time and energy, you know."

Hermione sighed in defeat, her pulse finally slowing for the first time since she entered the Ministry. "I… I suppose so."

Opening one eye and rolling her head to the side, Hermione looked back at Mrs. Weasley. The look on her face was so earnest—so concerned. The expression was motherly; there was no other word for it.

Hermione's chest tightened a little. In her heart of hearts, she knew that this was the expression she had searched for in her own mother's eyes during her weeks in Australia.

But that was done. It wasn't her mum looking at her now. It was Ron and Ginny's mum. This was the kind of affection she should be showing her own daughter. She blinked rapidly, trying to keep more tears at bay.

But it seemed Mrs. Weasley saw right through her once more. "You look completely exhausted. Are you sure you're all right?"

Though she nodded at first, one look from Mrs. Weasley, and her nod slowly turned to a shake. "No," she whispered, barely a sound leaving her mouth. "I'm not."

It took two seconds before Mrs. Weasley's arms were around her, enveloping her in a comforting warmth—the same warmth that emanated from every inch of the Burrow. It was like coming home—like feeling that sense of relief she used to get as a little girl when she came home from primary school after another day of her classmates bullying her. Mum would make her a cup of milky tea and a plateful of sugar-free biscuits and hold her tight as she cried. Being enveloped in Mrs. Weasley's arms filled her with love. She felt a bit like a child, but for now, she didn't mind too much. She allowed herself to feel comfort welling inside of her before she found herself spilling more of her worries aloud.

Worries about her parents.

Worries about motherhood.

Worries about how everyone would view her for being a mother.

Worries that it was all true—that she did have questionable character.

"I mean, I was supposed to be going somewhere," Hermione choked as her voice became more and more hysterical. "I _actually_ had thoughts of taking the Ministry of Magic by storm," she lamented, tears falling freely now. Hermione could feel her face heating up; surely, her cheeks were red and splotchy. Her words were coming out as a growl, spiteful and full of self-loathing. "But look at me now. A baby at eighteen! If Bluster was bad, imagine how the rest of the Ministry will view me. To them, I'm just a silly girl who couldn't keep her legs closed to Death Eater advances. It doesn't matter what I've done or what I think I can do. They're just going to keep pushing me down."

In a moment of weakness that she had not displayed since the end of the war, not even to Draco, she broke down completely, her body wracked with sobs.

"And what's even more awful is that I know Draco is facing the same thing as me, but ten times worse. So how can I be selfish and complain when I don't have that sort of past to attempt to explain? That stigma won't follow me around as a tattoo on my arm for the rest of my life."

Hermione mimicked her daughter and hiccoughed, her breathing spasming. Her head spun. In that moment, everything just ached. Insecurities she hadn't been aware she had hit her like a rogue bludger, leaving her breathless and reeling, but worse, making her question the validity of the claims. Making her question things she'd felt so certain of only hours before.

"Oh, my dear," she heard Mrs. Weasley's voice float by from just beside her. "That's so much weight to be carrying on your shoulders. No wonder you look tired." The woman squeezed her gently and began to rub firm, reassuring circles in her back, her other arm gently pushing a lock of hair from her temple.

Neither of them spoke for a few moments as Hermione leaned into the touch.

"You're nearly nineteen now, Hermione. Did you know I was only twenty when I had Bill? Arthur and I… we were so in love. We hadn't planned on starting a family so early, but Merlin knows we were young and reckless. I had Bill at twenty and I don't regret it for a single moment."

Hermione continued to sniff loudly as Mrs. Weasley continued.

"Having a baby at a young age is not a crime or even a bad thing. It just is what it is. What matters is that you love your daughter and are willing to work hard to provide for her. Draco certainly has that drive. And you love Draco, don't you? I can see it. The way you look at him…"

Hermione moved her head slightly up and down. The sniffing had largely subsided by now.

"That's all that's important, dear. To hell with everyone else. People will always have changing perceptions of you, especially when you become a mother. Some will respect you more and some will always question you for making that decision. And no one in our world feels that duality right now more than you, Hermione."

Mrs. Weasley pulled away, holding Hermione at arm's length. Her eyes shone with motherly love.

"You have done so much for the wizarding community. And I won't lie to you. Some people will likely expect you to keep serving the community selflessly as you have been for years. They will view your venture into motherhood as irresponsible. Not because of your age, but because of who you are and what you represent. And yet others will condemn you for working at all with a baby on your hip. It's a battle you cannot win but will have to fight anyway. I fought it. Your own mother likely fought it."

Hermione felt the words sink in. It all seemed like an endless uphill struggle; even though she had already been fighting for years, she felt as if she might have to continue to fight and fight and fight until there just wasn't any fight left in her. She was about to break away from Mrs. Weasley's grip and lean back into the sofa cushion when she was stopped.

It seemed Mrs. Weasley wasn't finished speaking.

"It may seem overwhelming, but my dear, if there is anyone I know who is capable of winning that battle, it is you. You are _so very_ capable, Hermione. You know it. I know it. So many of those who know you personally also know it. Now you have to prove it to those naysayers. Show them. Show Mr. Bluster just how wrong he was to not even consider hiring you."

Hermione sighed and turned to look at her daughter, fast asleep beside her on the sofa. Her tiny chest contracted and expanded with each sweet breath she took. What would this little girl think of her if she gave up so easily?

She needed to keep fighting. For her daughter.

"How can I show them if they won't even consider me?" Hermione whispered, her eyes glued to Shiloh.

"Make them. And then once you're in, you swoop in and take Carlisle's job from right under his sweaty nose."

Hermione let out a noise halfway between a sob and a laugh. "That would be something, wouldn't it?" she said, wiping tears from her blotchy face.

"Indeed, it would." Mrs. Weasley patted her shoulder with an air of finality. "Just remember that no matter what, I am on your side. You can always come to me. I can't promise to fix everything, but I do promise to lend my ear whenever you need it."

Clapping her hands together, Mrs. Weasley stood. "Well, then. Shall I go put some sandwiches together for lunch? I'm sure everyone outside will have worked up an appetite."

Hermione moved to stand as well, but was stopped.

"Rest, dear. Surely you don't get much of that right now."

Watching the motherly figure exit the sitting room, Hermione tipped over on the sofa until she was lying sideways, her feet curled up next to the armrest, her head just below her daughter's tiny body.

_You are so very capable. _

_I am on your side. _

_You can always come to me._

She had needed to hear these words, but until this very moment, she hadn't realized how much. Of course, the people who she really wanted to hear these words from were back in Australia. They were far away and hadn't said a single word like that to her when she visited them.

But at least she had Mrs. Weasley; at least she had one adult she could lean on.

And for now, that was enough.

* * *

**Three cheers for Mrs. Weasley. **

**Stay home if you can and stay healthy. **

**Next update will be on April 11. **

**Love, BiscuitsForPotter**


	4. Chapter 4

**I hope everyone is staying safe and well. **

**What's that? Smut ahead? Enjoy!**

* * *

Hemione's mood had vastly improved by the next day. Though the edges of her tongue still tasted bitter from her encounter with Mr. Bluster, the comfort she received from Mrs. Weasley had dampened the acerbity. She had fallen asleep the night before with the Weasley matriarch's words floating behind her eyelids.

_You are so very capable. _

_I am on your side. _

_You can always come to me._

It seemed these words of affirmation had sunken in, because Hermione woke more well-rested than she had in quite some time. Checking her watch, she realized with a jolt that it was just past eight o'clock; that was far later than she had slept in quite some time, especially without waking up in the night to tend to the baby.

Her vision swam into focus, revealing a scene that made her heart thump sweetly in her chest: Draco sat across the room in a rocking chair, Shiloh tucked safely in his arms. The little girl sucked greedily at a recently-introduced bottle, her silvery eyes focused on her daddy with innocent intensity. It seemed that her movements hadn't gone unnoticed.

Draco looked up at her with a similar intensity, though his gaze carried far less innocence.

"Good morning." Draco's smile widened once he saw she was awake. "Sleep well?"

Hermione peeled back the covers, slid off the mattress, and padded over to Draco in her thin, blue nightgown. "Very." She slipped an arm around his back and leaned down to kiss his cheek. "Thank you."

"It was my pleasure. Besides, it wasn't an entirely selfless act."

"Oh?"

"You haven't forgotten what we have planned for tonight, have you?" Draco quirked an eyebrow up at her, mischief in his smirk.

She felt her cheeks fill with soft heat as she glanced at Shiloh. It felt very odd to be bringing this up in front of their daughter. Logically, of course, Hermione knew that she was a baby and didn't understand what was going on. But still, the thought of it made her more embarrassed than she might have been otherwise. Hermione couldn't help the butterflies that filled her stomach at his words. "I haven't, actually. I'm… looking forward to it."

"Good." His eyes never left hers as he spoke, gaze burning with lust. "So you'll understand why I wanted you well-rested, then."

Every hair on her body stood on end as a shiver ran clear through her from the top of her head all the way down to her feet, where her toes curled in the anticipation of his words.

The thought of sleeping with Draco again practically made her brain misfire. Yes, she was excited, but parts of her were also nervous and even a bit scared. They hadn't been together like that since before Shiloh was born. The last time they'd had sex, she'd had a giant belly. They had only had non-pregnant sex a couple of times, and that had been nearly a year ago.

Was it as good as she remembered it? What if she was too damaged down there to enjoy it ever again? Healers had reassured her that she would be just fine, but the thought worried her nonetheless.

Still caught between anticipation and a bit of dread, Hermione turned her attention back to Draco, who seemed to be watching for her reaction to his words.

He was obviously satisfied with her response, because without saying anything else, Draco pulled the bottle away from their daughter and placed her up over his shoulder to wind her. Hermione watched his hands as he worked. He was firm and sure of his movements, yet incredibly gentle in the way his long fingers cradled the baby's head to him.

Hermione knew it was entirely inappropriate to be thinking about those fingers and the things they were capable of doing when he had the baby in his arms, but she could hardly help where her mind wandered. It had been exactly three months since their daughter's birthday and even longer since they had been together—fully.

She chided herself mentally for being so easily reduced to her base desires; old Hermione—the way she had been before the war, before she had come to know Draco Malfoy so well—would have placed other priorities higher. She would have pushed down her cravings for touch in favor of more pressing matters.

But she wasn't the_ 'old Hermione' _anymore. The war was over, and in its ashes, she had practically been born anew.

New Hermione had no trouble admitting her desires.

"I hope you're well-rested too, _Mr. Malfoy_." She looked at him through her lashes, her voice dropping an octave. "Because I don't foresee much rest for you this evening."

Leaving her boyfriend with a slightly stunned expression on his face, Hermione turned on her heel and strode across the room and out of sight in search of some breakfast.

It seemed Draco had decided to distract himself, because he plodded downstairs a little while later, fully dressed, and placed the baby in Hermione's arms.

"Where are you off to?" Bill asked over the top of his newspaper.

"The Burrow. More Quidditch," he answered quickly. "I'll be back late afternoon with Ron."

With a kiss on the cheek for both Hermione and Shiloh, Draco disappeared in a whoosh of emerald.

"That is right," declared Fleur from her seat across from Hermione. "Ron is coming to watch the baby. Am I right when I guess that you are going on a date tonight?"

Hermione felt her cheeks turn slightly pink, but she nodded. "It's the first one since—" She cut off her words abruptly. Everyone at the table was aware of the day she was referencing. It was a topic they actively avoided. "Well, since the baby, anyway."

Fleur smiled sadly and after a moment, clicked her tongue. "Well then. It will be a special night. What do you intend to wear?"

At that moment, Bill cleared his throat. "As much as I would love to talk all about dresses, I'm going to make an escape. Do you need anything from Diagon Alley, _mon coeur_?"

Fleur stood and walked to the kitchen to make a list while Hermione remained at the table. She rearranged Shiloh in her arms. It seemed the little girl had been gumming at her dressing gown, which was now saturated with baby spittle.

Hermione sighed. Surely every stitch of clothing she owned had now been covered in spit up… milk… poo… None of her limited wardrobe seemed to be fitting for what she had in mind for tonight.

When Bill had gone, Fleur returned to the table and immediately drew up a chair right next to Hermione.

"As I was saying, what do you intend to wear?"

Hermione chuckled. "I'm honestly not sure. I can hardly wear a shirt that's spit up on over and over again. And that's most of my clothes."

Fleur held out her arms and Hermione handed her daughter over.

"Don't worry, Hermione. I will not let you go on your date covered in baby vomit. Tonight, you will look so beautiful that Draco will not be able to remember his own name when he looks at you."

With a motion of her hand, Fleur stood and beckoned Hermione upstairs.

Fleur was a miracle worker, truly. She had found the perfect dress—nothing flashy or elaborate, but rather simple and beautiful. Since Hermione had no clue what she would be doing on this date, she didn't want to show up in something too casual or too fancy. In the end, Fleur had helped her select a strappy burgundy dress with a fitted waist and a skirt that flowed down to her knees.

The French woman also volunteered to do her hair and makeup. While Shiloh napped in the mid-afternoon, Fleur washed her hair and braided it on the side of her head before placing the rest of her curls in a bun at the base of her neck. Hermione relaxed as Fleur's fingers combed through her hair. How long had it been since her mum had done something like this for her? It felt… nice.

Fleur had nearly finished by the time they heard the Floo activate downstairs. Two male voices carried from the sitting room, and Hermione recognized them both immediately. She nearly stood to go to them, but Fleur placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Not yet. Let me greet them. I am sure that Draco will require a shower before your date. Unless you would like him sweaty and covered in mud."

Fleur winked at her before disappearing from the room.

Hermione was left to her own devices in the master bedroom while Draco cleaned up. She briefly wondered what tonight would hold. Draco would be in charge of their date; it had been his idea, after all. Still, it was a bit of a mystery. He was still incredibly wary of public places, and he hadn't wandered too far from either the Burrow or Shell Cottage since his time in custody last month.

Surely, they weren't going to some posh place in London. That would be far too crowded for Draco's liking at this point. But where, then?

Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock on the door.

"Hermione, he is ready."

She stood and flattened her skirt before lifting a slumbering Shiloh from the bed. Just outside the bedroom, Fleur took the baby from her and encouraged her to walk down the stairs. "He's waiting for you down there."

There was a knowing gleam in her eyes as she spoke.

Hand on the bannister, Hermione walked down the steps one at a time. As promised, Draco stood at the bottom, dressed in crisp slacks and a dark blazer. His back was to her; he was chatting idly with Ron, and based on the animated looks on their faces, she could only assume they were discussing Quidditch.

Her movement must have caught Ron's eye, because he looked up from their conversation. Some time ago, it was his expression she would have searched for as she made her big entrance. She would have longed to see a slightly dazed look in his eyes and a big, dopey grin on his face.

But no more.

When Ron smiled lovingly up at her, she felt no more in her heart than the same brotherly love she felt when she saw Harry.

As he smiled, the youngest Weasley brother nudged Draco. The blond man shot a glance behind him for a moment before turning to face her full on.

It was his face she longed to see.

Dracos' eyes grew glassy the moment he turned, the edges of them wrinkling slightly in a smile. His lips opened slightly, his jaw having gone slightly slack. The upturn of his mouth slowly climbed up his face, dimpling his cheeks, until the smile reached his eyes.

"Hermione," he breathed, licking his lips. "You look beautiful."

Walking down the rest of the steps, she joined her boyfriend in the sitting room. "You're looking quite handsome, yourself."

Jitters filled Hermione's stomach. How odd. They had spent so much time together; they had even had a baby together. Why, _now_, did the look in his eye and this compliment seem to make her, for lack of a better phrase, all a dither?

At the bottom of the stairs, the two stared at each other for several long seconds before Ron cleared his throat behind Draco.

"Well, then. Are you two going to make eyes at each other all night or are you going to give me my goddaughter and get out of here?"

Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but before any sound could come out, Fleur called from upstairs. "Yes, coming! Here she is—the beautiful Miss Shiloh."

Ron held his arms out and enveloped the infant in them. Hermione had to admit that Ron was quite taken with the little girl. Even though he might not have been the most knowledgeable babysitter, he was certainly bound to be the most protective and enthusiastic. And that had to count for something.

"Right, so we'll be gone for about five hours. You can expect us home around eleven."

"Cool. And if I need anything—?"

"You can ask me, Ron," Fleur cut in. "Let us not bother these two. They deserve some time to themselves." She winked at them. "Now, off with the both of you! Shoo! I don't want to see the two of you back here one second before eleven o'clock."

Fleur practically shoved them out the front door and onto the front stoop before shutting it firmly behind them. They were met by the soft whisper of the ocean waves nearby and the glow of the evening sun sinking lower in the sky.

When Hermione glanced over at Draco, she saw he stuck his elbow out. She took it and smiled at him.

"So, Draco. You've planned tonight. Where are we going?" she asked. Hermione expected to see him draw his wand from his pocket to prepare to Apparate them, but he made no such move.

"Oh, not far."

"We're not Apparating?"

"No. We're walking."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Walking?"

"Patience, Granger," he whispered in her ear as he began to lead her down the front steps.

True to his word, their destination was not terribly far. About twenty minutes up the beach, a small restaurant sat on a cliff overlooking the sea.

"I've heard," he said as they approached, "that this Muggle place has the best seafood in the area. Granted, I don't know if it would top some of the dishes I've eaten in the magical corners of Italy—" Hermione shoved Draco lightly with her shoulder at his braggadocious words. "—But It wouldn't hurt to give it a try. Would you care to test it out with me?"

Rolling her eyes, Hermione adjusted the light shawl wrapped around her shoulders and took his hand, pulling him along with a laugh.

"It would be a great honour to listen to you complain about the food all evening."

Draco wrinkled his brow in mock offense. "Hey!"

The restaurant was simply lovely. It was small enough that they only had a handful of tables; it was also public enough to feel special without being utterly overwhelming for Draco. For the first time in three months they enjoyed a meal without being interrupted by a baby's cries or the presence of others. Instead, they chewed their food slowly and delighted in conversations deeper than the small talk they had been making for the past few weeks.

"You seem to be slowly feeling better," Hermione commented, taking a bite of her shrimp scampi pasta. "You were so closed off when I returned from Australia. It's nice to see you opening up again."

Draco looked up from his untouched lobster, vulnerability shining in his eyes.

"Yes, I suppose," he admitted, reaching for his wine glass. "Thank Merlin this place is Muggle. Otherwise, even a small place like this would be seriously pushing it."

Hermione shot him a sympathetic smile and reached across the table to grasp his hand in hers. "You'll get there," she said. "I promise."

"Honestly, I'm worried about Hogwarts. All those students… their parents surely have opinions about me."

"Are you scared for your safety?"

Draco grimaced. "Not really. Just…" he paused, setting down his fork. "All my life, I've had to uphold the Malfoy name. Being a Malfoy was a good thing… a privilege. Now, I'm not so sure. And I'm also not sure how to keep upholding a name no one respects. Everyone hates me."

"Oh, Draco. That's not true."

"But it is," he insisted. "You weren't at my trial."

Hermione opened her mouth to retort, but Draco continued quickly.

"Not that I blame you. What happened wasn't either of our faults. It just… happened. But Hermione, at my trial, you should have seen the way everyone looked at me. It was like I was dirt… like I was less than the slimiest flobberworm they were forced to scrape off the bottom of their boot."

Draco's face had turned grey with misery. He stared down at his food, but his eyes were far away.

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, it's not been easy for me either. It's not just you."

Draco looked up at these words, confusion on his face.

"What do you mean?"

Hermione filled him in on her meeting with Mr. Bluster at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Much like Mrs. Weasley, as she spoke, Draco listened with rapt attention. However, unlike Mrs. Weasley, he grew angrier and angrier with each word she spoke.

"That's absurd!" he hissed across the table. "Refusing to even consider you simply because of Shiloh? I understand why they might question your connection to me, but our daughter? Have they even met you, Granger?"

Hermione smiled weakly at his indignation on her behalf.

"It's all right, Draco."

"It is _not_ all right!" he sneered, his face contorted in anger for a moment before it fell with a sigh. "This is all my fault."

It was Hermione's turn to be indignant. "It is most certainly not your fault."

"If you had a baby by anyone other than me—by Weasley or hell, even by Longbottom, this wouldn't be a problem. But you shagged me and now you're being punished for it." Draco spat out the words as if each one was a dagger straight through his heart.

"That is complete rubbish and you know it. There's no one I'd rather have as Shiloh's father. The problem is them, not you. Do you hear me?"

After a pause, he muttered under his breath, "Them, not me."

"Exactly," Hermione whispered, squeezing his hand. "It'll be difficult, but we can prove ourselves. Show them exactly the kind of people they are, and how wrong their assumptions are."

Draco squeezed back. "I promise," he said, his eyes dark and serious, "that I'll work hard to get over this damn fear I have. I'll work hard so I can prove myself beside you. We'll uphold our names in a new sort of way. Or, rather, a new sort of way for me."

Hermione nodded. She felt herself relax. Twisting her fork around her pasta, she took another bite. Now seemed to be the appropriate time for a change in topic.

"How's your lobster?" she asked, staring at his clearly-untouched meal.

"Oh, er…" Draco looked down briefly before cracking a claw and promptly dripping a bit of butter down his front.

Hermione stifled a giggle.

"Messy, apparently."

They made an effort to keep their conversation lighter as the sun dipped lower in the sky. It reminded Hermione of the many chats they had last summer over ice cream cones, their bicycles sitting behind them on the grass.

Life certainly had been simpler then. Even if there was a war going on.

"How do you think Shiloh's doing?" Draco mused over the tiramisu they had ordered to split.

"I'm more worried about Ron, actually," Hermione commented with a chuckle.

"You're probably right about that."

When they finished their meal, Draco paid the check and they walked back onto the beach. By now, the sun had nearly disappeared beyond the horizon, its glow frosting the sky in delicious hues of orange and purple. Hermione and Draco removed their shoes and strolled along the shoreline, the saltwater lapping at their feet. What Hermione really loved was the feeling of the sand squelching beneath her toes; though she wasn't sure if Draco liked the sensation as much as she did, he grinned at her each time she sank her foot into the squishy ground.

"Having fun?" he asked about ten minutes into their walk.

"Oh, very much so. Thank you for asking." She intertwined her fingers with his before glancing at her watch. "It's only eight-thirty. We're not due back for over two hours. What else do you have planned?"

If she were being completely honest with herself, Hermione knew exactly what she hoped he had planned. It wasn't complicated. All she wanted was somewhere that was completely baby free and had a bed. Just the thought made her throat go dry with anticipation. Glancing over at Draco, she saw that his pupils had dilated.

"I can tell exactly what's going on in that head of yours, Granger," he said, his lips brushing against her ear. "Don't you worry."

Draco led her back along the water for only a minute or so more.

"Here we are," he declared, gesturing to an empty stretch of sand.

Hermione looked around expectantly, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. "What exactly am I supposed to be looking at?" she asked, suspicion growing in her tone.

"Ah, yes." Draco said, pulling his want out. _"Revelio."_

Before their eyes, a large tent appeared. From within, Hermione could see the soft glow of some sort of light. She rounded on Draco.

"A tent? Really? Don't you think I've seen enough of those to last a lifetime?"

He smirked, pushing her forward gently toward the opening of the tent. "Trust me, okay?"

Sighing, Hermione complied. As the tent flap opened, her bare feet left the soft texture of dry sand and she found them instead on a luxurious, intricately woven carpet. Looking up from her feet, she gasped.

The inside of this tent looked nothing like the one she had spent months in last year. In fact, it looked nothing like the inside of a tent at all. Instead, it looked more like a high-end hotel room complete with king-sized bed and a comfortable-looking settee. On a cart in the corner sat a platter full of—were those chocolate-covered strawberries?—and a bottle of champagne.

When Hermione took another step forward and glanced to her right, her exhaled breath shook. There, in the corner, sat an incredibly inviting bathtub filled past the brim with bubbles.

"Draco… What? When…? How—?" Words failed her as her light shawl fell off her shoulders and puddled on the ground by her feet. From behind, she felt a pair of arms wrap around her middle. She smiled, leaning into the touch as Draco leaned his chin on her shoulder.

"I've been working on it all day. I Flooed to the Burrow and then immediately Apparated back here."

Hermione turned her head slightly to face him. "You didn't! You did all of this?"

"Well I admit I had some help from Bill," he admitted. "The carpet was a bit finicky. But the rest was me." He paused for a moment as Hermione tried her best to soak the moment in. When he spoke again, it was with hesitation. "What do you think?"

Leaning in to touch foreheads, Hermione whispered two short words: "It's perfect."

She kissed Draco's cheek before breaking away from his embrace to explore a bit. First, she wandered to the tub and dipped her fingers in the water. There must have been a stasis charm placed on it, because the bubbles hadn't started popping and the water remained the perfect temperature.

As she puttered around the room, she felt Draco's eyes on her, watching her every move. Her body felt hot under his gaze. Beneath her breastbone, her heart thumped a perfect staccato. The air in the tent felt heavy with anticipation, and Hermione was sure that if she breathed in time with her heartbeat, she'd be dizzy. Or maybe she already was.

As she made her way over to the bed—wooden and covered in crisp, white sheets and rose petals—the world seemed to be passing by in slow motion. It was as though the world somehow knew that she didn't want this moment, this buildup, to pass without taking it all in.

As her fingers brushed against a silky petal, Hermione heard the shifting of fabric from behind her. Turning, she saw that Draco had removed his blazer, leaving him in a starched white shirt. With the flick of his fingers, he began to undo the top buttons.

One, two, three…

She swallowed.

Draco approached one step at a time, his gaze smoldering hers with each passing second. She had never seen him look at her with such intensity. Not like this. They had slept together, yes. It had been sweet and sincere, desperate and inexperienced. But this… this was something different. The way he looked at her now, it was almost as though he wanted to consume her entirely.

One more step and the tip of his bare toes touched hers. His eyes bore into hers, his mouth that was so conditioned into a stern line parted slightly, awaiting her lips.

Hermione could hear her heartbeat in her ears. Her brain, so often running like a well-oiled machine, seemed to misfire.

"M-muggles," she stuttered, blinking up at him.

Draco tilted his head. "Mm?" He traced her cheek with his finger.

She licked her lips nervously, cursing herself inwardly.

"Muggles," she croaked. "Can't they see the tent? Hear us?"

And then Draco did something funny—something she hadn't seen him do since he was ensconced in more lighthearted affairs at Hogwarts. He gave a wicked grin, his eyes sparking with the familiar mischief he'd gotten up to as a boy. But there was clearly nothing boylike about the thoughts running through his head.

Instead of answering right away, he began to walk forward. As he did, Hermione found herself being walked backward slowly until she felt her shoulder blades make contact with the tent wall. Draco never moved away. His face remained two inches from hers, his breath tickling her lips and his grey eyes clouded with lust.

"Draco?"

"No one can see this tent except us. No one can hear us either. And you know what that means, don't you?"

Hermione's breath hitched in her throat as he spoke. Who was this confident man and what had he done with Draco? Last she'd checked, they'd been two nervous teenagers fumbling around in the dark.

"What does it mean?"

Draco leaned in and kissed the side of her neck. Between pecks and small nips, he answered her question. "It means...that you...can be... as loud as...you...want."

Hermione's stomach swooped as Draco drew away, if only for a moment.

She swore she could see the whole world in his eyes.

And then he kissed her.

Draco's lips captured hers with such ferocity that she nearly squeaked in surprise. But after two seconds, she melted into him, the sweet taste of his lips like a never-ending supply of firewhisky. He pushed against her with a bruising enthusiasm, and not just his mouth. His whole body stood flush against hers. She could feel every line of his torso, every hardness of his muscles pushing into her.

Slowly, his hands began to trace her outline, beginning with her face, down past her neck and shoulders; she felt his calloused fingers caress her exposed collarbone and skim her breasts tenderly. He didn't linger there, though. Instead, his hands kept going.

Hermione was finding breathing rather difficult. With each new inch Draco moved, the oxygen levels in her lungs seemed to decrease. It was an overload of the senses: his lips, his body, his hands, moving down, down, down…

When they reached her stomach, Hermione suddenly jumped, drawing slightly away.

Draco paused his ministrations, concern in his eyes.

"Are you all right?"

Hermione looked at him, chest heaving, eyes searching his. "I… I think so."

"Is it too much? Was_ I_ too much?"

She couldn't help but let out a singular barking laugh. "Merlin, no. I… I want to keep going, definitely."

Draco pecked a kiss on her lips. "Then what's going on?"

"I just… you touched my stomach and I couldn't help but think… it's not the same. I don't look the same as I did. Before, I mean."

"You mean before you had a baby?" Draco asked, amusement dancing in his irises.

"Are you… are you laughing at me?" Hermione huffed.

Shaking his head, Draco withdrew slightly, a smile still on his lips.

"I'm definitely not laughing at you."

"Then what's all this?" Hermione felt her cheeks heat up with embarrassment, her jaw tightening.

"Hermione, will you listen?" Draco cupped her face in his palm. "I know you don't look exactly the same. You gave me the greatest gift three months ago. You gave us our daughter. You made her in your body. You kept her safe in there through the entire war."

Hermione sniffed. "Well, not entirely safe…"

Draco snorted. "Semantics at this point. She's here, isn't she? She's alive and healthy and probably driving her godfather spare at the moment. And that was because of you. It's because of you and your incredible body. So forgive me if I overlook the exact shape of your belly or padding on your hips. I'll be too busy worshipping you to care, I think."

She wasn't really sure what to say to that. And even if she knew what to say, she wasn't entirely sure she could. Her vocal chords, it seemed, had stopped working.

Instead, she wrapped her arms around Draco and rotated them until he was the one with his back to the wall. Hermione then backed away slowly, her arms reaching for the hem of her dress and her eyes never leaving his.

In a single motion, she pulled the burgundy garment over her head, leaving her in nothing but knickers and the first non-nursing bra she had worn in far too long.

As she removed her undergarments, Draco, too began to undress. Hermione watched as he undid his cufflinks and unbuttoned the rest of his shirt, followed by his trousers. When his pants finally joined the rest of the clothes on the floor, the two of them stared at each other for a long moment.

Since the war, they had seen each other naked, certainly. Draco had the pleasure of seeing her naked breasts many times a day. But they had not looked at each other like this. Not with such adoration—with such intention.

"Let's take a bath," Hermione suggested casually.

The stasis charm had clearly remained intact. When Hermione lowered herself into the tub, she let out a groan of appreciation. Warmth enveloped her up to her shoulders. Draco followed, taking up the spot behind her. As their bodies settled into the water, it rose dangerously close to the edge. He leaned into the back of the tub and she into him. She could feel the evidence of his arousal, hard and pressing on her backside. But he didn't push. He didn't hurry them. After all, they had time.

They sat in comfortable silence for a couple minutes before Draco spoke up.

"Can I tell you a secret?"

Hermione could practically hear his smirk.

"Secret?"

"I've gotten myself off three times today already."

She suppressed a giggle, which morphed into a sort of snort.

"Excuse me?"

"I wanted to last tonight. We haven't been together in so long that I was afraid I would… well… _blow my load_ so to speak… too soon."

"Blow your load?" At this very un-Draco-like language, Hermione did giggle.

"What do you want me to say? _Cum_? Or do you want me to be more precise and say _orgasm_?"

"Well either one of those would be better than 'blow my load'."

"Shut up and kiss me, woman."

Their mouths moved together, bodies rubbing beneath the water. Each passing minute brought mounting pleasure all over Hermione's body, though they hadn't begun the actual… act.

After a bit, her knees grew a bit sore as they ground against the hard porcelain. It seemed Draco felt the same way, based on the way he began to grimace.

Hermione nipped his lip and whispered, "Bed?"

Draco nodded wordlessly, and without breaking their kiss, he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her from the tub. Chest to chest, Hermione felt her breasts leak a little onto herself and Draco, droplets of milk falling across her skin. If Draco noticed, he didn't say anything, and for that, Hermione was grateful. They collapsed onto the soft mattress moments later. He was positioned above her, their centers nearly aligned.

She could feel him at her entrance, pressing…

"Oh, wait!" Hermione cried as a crucial part of their night came to mind. "Contraceptive charm."

Nodding, Draco reached down to the spot where his trousers lay in a heap. From the pocket, he produced his wand.

He then proceeded to point it at Hermione's abdomen.

When the pale blue light faced from the tip of the wand, he tossed it aside and kissed his way down her entire body. When he reached her navel, he looked up at her, the same hungry look in his eyes.

"Ready?"

He lined himself up.

"Yes."

Draco pushed into her, and Hermione was instantly filled with discomfort.

"Ouch!" She winced, the desire in her face traded for a grimace.

Draco froze. "Are you… okay?"

Hermione shook her head. "It's a bit uncomfortable."

Draco looked down at her, biting his lip, his brow furrowed.

They were about to have sex and he was _worried_ now. Hermione slumped back onto the bed and heaved a sigh. This was not what she had hoped for.

"Can I do anything?" he asked, his voice soft.

She sighed again. "Honestly, I'm not sure. It just feels… tender."

Draco continued to stare at her, a peculiar expression on his face. She felt her cheeks heat up under his gaze; she didn't like the way he was studying her. It made her feel like a problem he was trying to solve, not a gorgeous woman he was about to shag. Him looking at her like that made her worry that tonight just wasn't going to happen.

Maybe it wasn't. Maybe it wasn't meant to be. He would be so disappointed.

Hermione felt tears form in the corners of her eyes.

"Hey, hey," Draco murmured, cupping her face with his palm. "It's okay. Don't cry."

These words only made it worse. Hermione fought the urge to go back to the bathtub and drown herself in misery. She was ruining this perfect moment Draco had worked so hard to create for them.

Hermione was about to open her mouth to apologize, but Draco spoke before she could get a word out.

"Would it help if I—if I touched you?"

Hermione fought the immediate instinct to decline the offer. The idea of his fingers down there, potentially unable to make things better, left Hermione feeling exposed before him in a way she hadn't been before. The refusal sat on the tip of her tongue when her eyes met his.

He seemed so unsure of himself, worrying his lip, his eyes shining. There was something about the way he carried himself in that moment, something so entirely vulnerable, that Hermione felt the shame enveloping her chest melt away. It was so clear.

Draco wasn't going to make her feel bad if things didn't work out tonight. He wasn't going to hold a grudge or make fun of her.

He was there to love her. That's why they were doing this, wasn't it? Because they loved each other.

She loved Draco. And if she loved him, she could allow herself to feel vulnerable in front of him.

"Yeah. Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay."

Draco pulled back, and Hermione felt him slide out of her. He then crawled up to lie on his side next to her on the bed, propping himself up on his elbow. His other free hand found its way to the apex of her thighs and cupped her lightly there.

His eyes never leaving hers, he pressed the heel of his hand into her, lightly at first.

A shiver shot down her spine and went right to her center.

"You can—you can press harder." The words came out almost breathy.

Draco obliged, and with the increase in pressure, Hermione felt the first jolts of pleasure. She let out a small moan.

Hope sparked in Draco's eyes. "Good?"

Hermione nodded. "Good."

He began to move the heel of his hand more, pressing with an insistent rhythm. On instinct, Hermione's hips canted up to encourage his hand further.

His hand still pressing down, Hermione felt a finger swipe past her. She heard the telltale sign of wetness as another jolt of pleasure shot through her. This time, to her amazement, it was Draco's turn to groan.

"You're so _wet,_" he muttered, his voice low and husky. Leaning in, he began to trail kisses up her jawline until she could feel his lips brushing against her ear. "I'm gonna make you feel so good, love. I swear."

When his fingers began to move against her, it was as though she was truly coming back to life for the first time since the war. The pleasure coursing through her veins reminded her what it was to be alive—to be in love—to be happy.

Her hips were moving of their own accord now, his fingers and palm working their magic on her, playing her like a well-practiced instrument, and it was only a few minutes before she felt the familiar climb toward oblivion, like a string pulling tighter and tighter inside of her.

"Oh, Draco, I think… I-I—"

Her mouth fell open in bliss as her body arched and stars burst behind her eyelids. Hands searched blindly for something to keep her grounded—keep her from floating away. They found Draco's hair, and her fingers wound through his locks.

It took several long moments before her body stopped feeling like a livewire and her muscles obeyed her mind once again. Peeling her eyes open, she saw Draco gazing at her like she was the only sun in his universe.

She loved this man so very, very much. She wanted to give him everything. All of her.

"Draco," she rasped, dragging her palm across his cheek. "I think I'm ready."

His eyes searched hers for confirmation. "Are you sure?"

She nodded, a grin breaking out on her face. "I want all of you, Draco."

Draco slid off the bed with gusto, a giddy smile bringing out the dimple in his cheek. When he lined himself up for the second time that night, Hermione felt butterflies erupt in her stomach.

He pushed in inch by inch, and though it was still slightly uncomfortable, the foreplay made it much easier. When she didn't protest, Draco continued to push in until she surrounded him completely.

Wrapped so tightly—so closely together, Hermione was filled with an overwhelming feeling of coming home.

Still fully sheathed inside of her, Draco hovered over her, leaning his lips down until they practically kissed the outside of her ear. "You are my world," he murmured. "My whole world."

"And you're mine," she mumbled back.

He began to move in and out of her, careful, deliberate. Each thrust was slow and sweet. As their bodies drew as close as two bodies could possibly be, Hermione couldn't help but feel entirely connected to Draco, not just physically but in body, mind, and soul… it was as though they were moving as one; as though their primal connection reached beyond this moment. It was as though they had always been connected and always would be.

When Draco's thrusts began to grow more erratic, he leaned over her. She propped herself up on her elbows to meet him halfway, and their foreheads touched.

"Do you want me to—?" he panted, his hand reaching between her legs.

She nodded frantically, and he dove in, rubbing furiously as he continued to thrust. It wasn't long before Hermione's pleasure began to crest again, her clit close to overdrive from Draco's enthusiastic ministrations.

She came just before he did with a loud moan. When he pumped into her a final time, her lips brushed his in one last, sweet, simple kiss before he rolled off of her, panting.

They didn't talk for some time. They didn't need to, it seemed. Their hearts were beating as one, after all.

After a while, though, Hermione felt the thumping in her chest die down a bit. Their breath slowed as well, and soon, the only sound reaching their ears was the lapping of the waves on the nearby shore.

And then Hermione's stomach growled.

"Hungry?" Draco asked.

"Apparently. I suppose the amount of physical activity we just did warrants my hunger."

Chuckling, Draco sat up. "Right. Fancy some strawberries and champagne, Granger?"

He stood, not bothering to cover up, and headed to the food cart. Hermione took a moment to enjoy the view of his delicious backside as he walked. With a pop of the cork, Draco poured them each a glass and gestured for her to join him.

She didn't dress either, though she took a moment to herself to wipe away the breast milk that had leaked everywhere. The two sat at the little table in the kitchen area completely naked, sipping on champagne and munching on the strawberries. Hermione practically moaned after each bite. Being at war for so long had made her appreciate the little things that made life pleasurable. Strawberries happened to be one of those things. Each bite was sweeter than the last, and she savored the taste of the berry on her tongue. It seemed that the ones Draco had picked out were particularly ripe ones. Juice kept running past her lips and down her chin.

After a handful of times wiping it away with the back of her hand, Draco stopped her on her next attempt. He grabbed her wrist just as she was about to touch her face. Looking up at him, his pupils were dilated again.

With a swipe of his tongue, he licked the dribble of strawberry from her chin.

"Do you have any idea what you do to me?" he demanded, his lips and tongue moving away from her chin and onto her neck. She wrapped her arms around him.

Feeling emboldened, Hermione upped the ante. "You should show me," she teased, dragging her fingernails down his spine.

"Oh? And how would you like me to show you?"

Draco was likely expecting her to say something innocently romantic. Or perhaps he expected her to stammer and blush. But Hermione was long past those feelings. She wanted him.

She wanted him now.

Steeling herself, Hermione looked up at Draco with the same intensity he had looked at her with and drew breath.

"I'd like you to show me by shagging me."

It was as though something within Draco snapped. The moment the words exited her lips, he reached under her, wrapping his arms around her thighs, and hoisted her onto the kitchen table.

This time, his mouth wasn't sweet. Neither were his eyes or his hands or his cock. His lips crashed into hers as he wrenched her knees apart. Glancing down, Hermione saw that he was hard once again.

And then he was sheathed within her once more. Both Hermione and Draco moaned together at the contact. Not even a half a moment later, Draco drew back and pounded into her again.

"_Ah_—Draco! _Slower,_ please," she begged when the tenderness within her began to flare up again.

"Do you need me to—?"

"For Circe's sake, don't you dare stop!" she demanded. "Just take it slower, okay?"

Draco nodded. Sweat was beading on his forehead, a single drop falling down the side of his face. He set a steady pace, less ferocious than before. Hermione watched as his cock disappeared within her, and the sight only aroused her further. The rough sounds of slapping skin and grunts and groans filled the tent.

Hermione let herself go, there on the beach with Draco. Here, she didn't have to be in control completely. Here, she didn't have to worry about anything outside their tiny world. It was just here and now with him.

As Draco kept thrusting and their moans grew louder. Hermione was sure that if they hadn't been silenced, everyone on the beach would have heard them.

When they came down from their second high, Draco almost collapsed into her. His torso slumped into her, his head nuzzled into her shoulder.

He gasped. "That was—"

"Incredible," she finished.

She felt him nod.

Draco slid out of her, and she felt suddenly empty. Shaking off the feeling, she hopped down from the table to run for her wand that was tucked in her beaded bag on the other side of the room. Hermione used it to clean up the cum running down her thigh before checking the time.

"Ten-forty. We should probably head back."

Draco sighed. "Do we have to?"

Crossing the tent with her dress in hand, Hermione kissed Draco on the cheek. "There's a baby girl waiting for us whose smiles you would surely miss if we stayed here forever."

"I suppose you're right."

As they redressed, they kept shooting knowing glances at each other. When Hermione bent down to fetch her shoes, Draco reached over to pinch her bottom.

Though Hermione was sad to leave the tent behind, she couldn't help the smile that grew on her lips at the thought of her daughter sleeping soundly at home.

The young couple walked back up the beach toward Shell Cottage in their bare feet, the moonlight casting them in soft blue light. Hermione reached for Draco's hand, and she intertwined their fingers.

"Good date, then?" Draco inquired as their destination came into view.

"The best I've had."

He squeezed her hand. She squeezed back.

When they reached Shell Cottage and pushed the front door open, Hermione felt her already saturated heart fill to the brim twice over. There, in the sitting room, was Ron. He was fast asleep in a recliner, his mouth hanging open. On his chest, Shiloh snoozed away, blissfully unaware of her parents' return.

"I wish I had a camera with me," Hermione whispered.

She made her way over to him and lifted Shiloh into her arms before gently rousing him. Ron blinked in confusion for a few moments; Hermione watched the situation register in his mind.

"You're back?" he said through a yawn. "Have a good time, then?"

"We did, thanks," she answered. "Shiloh was good?"

"The best. She ate. She slept. She pooed on me. She slept some more. The usual."

"Thanks, Ron," Draco said, joining Hermione's side. "We owe you one."

"Yeah, yeah. Don't worry about it. Godfather, right?"

Hermione smiled. "Right. Now go on—go home."

He stood blearily and waved before disappearing into the Floo. The little family then made their way up the stairs, taking extra care not to wake the baby. When Shiloh was safely in her cot, Hermione and Draco changed silently into pyjamas and cuddled into each other on their bed. Though they often spent the night in each other's arms, tonight, it seemed, as their breath evened out and sleep overtook them, their hearts beat as one.

* * *

**OK, so the world's biggest shoutout to MsMerlin for helping me with the postpartum sex scene. It would have been so far from realistic without her help. **

**As always, a big thanks to her as my Alpha and GracefulLioness as my Beta. **

**I am doing well and sticking to sitting at my desk writing and taking my dog out for walks in the lovely spring weather, and I hope all of you are doing well, too. **

**Next chapter, it's on to Hogwarts! See you all on April 25 for that!**

**Please let me know what you think with a review! So much love to you all!**


	5. Chapter 5

**I hope you're all doing well. Special announcement in the end notes. On with the show.**

**As always, a huge shoutout to MsMerlin and GracefulLioness for their extraordinary help.**

* * *

"Come along, come along. Off we go!" Mrs. Weasley hurried the trio of teenagers through King's Cross Station. Unlike her normal gaggle of children, only one of the three had red hair. Draco found it incredibly odd to be included in this group. In the past, a scene like this would have found him on the sidelines, hurling insults about their freckles or their crushing poverty. He could practically see the ghost of his former self standing right by the barrier between platforms nine and ten, pointing and jeering at the person he had become: a person who fell in with blood traitors, whose priorities had shifted away from upholding the Malfoy name and toward namby-pamby things like helping Molly Weasley in the kitchen and rocking his daughter to sleep.

He supposed it said something about how much he had grown in the past year that he was able to simply ignore the vision in his head as he pushed his trolley through the barrier right behind his girlfriend.

By the time he crossed over and the scarlet steam engine came into view, Mrs. Weasley had gathered the others.

"—come and visit for the Christmas holidays, do you understand?" Draco caught the end of her speech as he rolled up. "Especially because I'll need to see how big this little pixie will be!" The Weasley matriarch gestured to the four-month-old infant in the carrier attached to Hermione's chest.

"We wouldn't dream of missing Christmas, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione chimed in, holding her daughter's wrist and making her wave. "Say bye-bye to Nana Molly, Shiloh."

Mrs. Weasley beamed at the mother and daughter, swooping down to give hugs and a to blow a raspberry on Shiloh's cheek. The baby giggled.

Draco felt his heart filling as he watched the scene unfold before him. He was incredibly grateful that his daughter was growing up with a grandmother figure in her life. With one real grandmother under house arrest and another still in Australia, that was a spot in Shiloh's life that could easily have stayed empty. Mrs. Weasley may not have been related to his little girl, but she was every bit her grandmother.

After a bone-crushing hug for both him and Ginny, they were waved off onto the train for one final September ride into the Scottish Highlands.

Draco levitated both his and Hermione's trunks onto the train with a flick of his wrist. After one final wave goodbye, he left the crowded platform and stepped onto the train. Truth be told, the pressure on his lungs began to relent the moment he moved away from the jam-packed public space. Even surrounded by loved ones, in a place like Platform Nine and Three Quarters, there was a high level of risk for someone like him.

There were definitely people out there who didn't like the Malfoy name, and the fear of their stares and harsh words had kept him from wandering too far over the summer. Now that the school year was starting up, he would have to give up the self-imposed isolation in favour of full classes and meals in the Great Hall.

It was a fate he never would have imagined for himself—winding up back at Hogwarts after all the horrific things he did and saw in that place. Returning now wasn't unwelcome, though. If he really thought about it, he was excited to go back. He was excited to feel like a normal student again—to worry about the sorts of things that students worried about. Grades. Exams. Homework.

It all actually sounded appealing, especially when compared to the tasks he had tried to fulfill during his last full academic year at school.

Gods, Hermione was definitely rubbing off on him. Looking forward to exams? He held himself back from snorting as he made his way down the narrow train corridor to look for an empty compartment.

As he passed full compartments, he mentally took note of people he recognized. That, and people who seemed to recognize him.

That part was easy enough. He just had to count the stares.

Ernie MacMillan was back. He was certainly staring, with that those stupid hippogriff shite coloured eyes.

Draco glared at him.

Hannah Abbot and Longbottom were back as well. Interestingly enough, they didn't stare, but rather, offered smiles.

He offered a tentative one back. It was still odd, attempting friendship with this lot. Or, at least… mutual indifference.

All down the train, it seemed that every single person had some sort of reaction to him, whether he knew them or not. Furtive glances and furrowed eyebrows followed him past every compartment. A couple students were even rude enough to slam their door shut as he passed.

But more than him, all eyes seemed to follow Hermione and the baby strapped to her chest. Some eyed the baby with sweet grins and kind eyes. Most looked on with wide eyes, open jaws, and hurried whispers.

Draco swallowed and hoped that his daughter wouldn't be met with such reactions the entire year.

After passing by nearly all the compartments, Ginny, who was leading the group, poked her head into one and motioned for them to follow. Draco levitated the trunks on the shelves above the seats and sat beside Hermione.

Across from him, Ginny had already taken a seat beside Lovegood and…

"Theo? Circe's tits, what are you doing here?"

The dark-haired bloke sat wedged between the two girls, and he couldn't have looked more out of place. Ginny, with her bright eyes and excitable demeanor and Luna, looking dreamy as always, seemed far too bright to be sitting next to the ever-sullen Theodore Nott.

He greeted Draco with a nod of his head and an arched brow. "So it's true, then?"

"What's that?" Draco responded as he helped Hermione remove Shiloh from her chest, cradling the infant to his own.

"You actually went and had a baby with Granger. Damn, Malfoy. I couldn't have seen that one coming even if someone had divined it."

Draco licked his lips to hide the grimace growing there.

"Well if you don't like it then you can find a seat somewhere else."

The three girls faced Theo with raised eyebrows. He threw his arms up and pressed his lips together. "I didn't mean anything by it, mate. Just making an observation. If you're happy with the situation, it's not like I have the right to do anything about it."

"That's surprisingly fair for you, Theo," Luna spoke up, turning to face the dark-haired boy.

He shrugged. "What can I say? I'm growing and changing every day."

With that, he summoned a book from his bag and buried his nose behind it.

The rest of the compartment's occupants fell silent, save for the baby. She began to coo and flap her arms about on Draco's knee, reaching for something unknown.

"Shiloh is very big," Luna commented, leaning forward. "I haven't seen her in over two months. Last time I saw her, she could hardly move at all and now she looks like she could be performing the dance meant to call upon bowtruckles. You haven't been letting her play with bowtruckles, have you?"

Draco could have snorted with laughter.

"No," Hermione said with a chuckle. "She hasn't been fraternizing with bowtruckles. She's just an infant who can't really control her movements yet. Honestly, she'd probably just try to stuff a poor creature like that into her mouth."

As if to prove her point, Shiloh reached for her father's hand and jammed his fingers in her mouth.

Draco, who was used to it at this point, observed Theo peeking over the top of the book with a spark of amusement.

"Well even so, I'll see if I can make her a charm I heard about on my travels with Daddy. It appeases the temperaments of bowtruckles so they don't go poking your eyes out."

Draco opened his mouth to tell Luna that he had no intention of letting anything that sharp near his daughter any time soon when Hermione placed a gentle hand on his knee.

"That would be lovely. Thank you, Luna."

Out of the corner of her eye, she shot him a look that clearly meant _just-go-along-with-it_ before settling in for the ride to Hogwarts.

Most of the journey, it turned out, revolved around keeping Shiloh entertained. Despite the long nap she took at the beginning of the ride, by the time she woke up mid-afternoon, she seemed ready to babble nonstop until the mountains of the highlands came into view. Thankfully, Ginny and Luna seemed taken enough with the baby that they spent a good deal of time keeping her occupied. They even promised Hermione multiple times that they were honestly not annoyed after she apologized profusely.

"Honestly, Hermione. We like playing with Shiloh," Ginny insisted. "Besides, this ride on the Hogwarts Express is way better than any of the times I rode it last year. No Carrows."

Even Theo didn't seem to mind the constant barrage of sweet, incomprehensible coos, giggles, and shrieks that came from his daughter's mouth. He just stuck to his book for most of the time and hardly looked up.

As the sun sank lower in the sky and the approach to Hogwarts grew imminent, fear began to bubble in Draco's stomach. He knew, logically, that there was no reason to be afraid, really. He would be surrounded by mostly children for the next ten months, most of whom had been whisked away from Hogwarts before the battle could begin; most of them didn't know it had been he who had tried to kill Dumbledore, either.

Yes, they were children for the most part.

But then again, he had been but a child, himself when he had done and said some truly unforgivable things.

Hermione seemed to sense when something was off with him, as she often did. She placed a hand on his arm and squeezed it gently.

"Everything all right?" she whispered into his ear.

He hummed in response.

"That bad, huh?"

He sighed.

Hermione leaned over and pressed a kiss against his temple. "Just remember to breathe. It's going to be fine. In just a couple hours' time we'll be done with the feast and tucked into bed, wherever they decide we're staying."

"I wonder where that'll be?" Draco mused. He wanted to keep talking to distract himself from his growing anxiety. "McGonagall didn't say in our letters."

"I'm sure she's sorted it out. In the meantime, I'm wondering how we're going to get this little pixie through the feast without interrupting everyone."

"You could always stupefy her," a third voice suggested from across the compartment.

Draco glared at Theo, who had spoken these words so casually, it was clear he had been eavesdropping on their entire conversation.

"Kidding. _Kidding_!" He snapped his book shut. "Of course… there is always _Silencio_."

"Theo!" Draco hissed. "Come on, mate. Have a little tact, won't you?"

Theo turned back to his book.

"Just have her sleep the whole time," Draco said. "Feed her now. That way, she'll sleep through dinner. We'll keep her up for a couple hours after."

Hermione agreed to the plan and pulled out her nursing cover.

Once again, Draco was reminded of how very odd his return to Hogwarts was.

Last time, he had been hatching plans to kill the head master.

This time, he hatched a plan to prevent his daughter from shrieking during beginning-of-the-year announcements.

If stares on the Hogwarts Express had been intimidating, it was nothing compared to how the eyes of his classmates made him feel as he walked through the Great Hall for the first time since the battle. The weight of this place already weighed on him. Everywhere he looked, he saw crumbled walls and bodies in his mind's eye. The festive and bright House decorations that lined the hall almost seemed to act as a cover-up for the tragedy that had occurred there just four months ago.

Draco had half a mind to turn and walk straight out of the Great Hall—to find a quiet corner and wait until this whole event was ended. And the eyes… the eyes of all the students were on him, angry and judgemental. He saw them follow his every step. Panic swelled in his chest and his heart began to palpitate unevenly. Sweat poured from his brow.

This was precisely why he had stayed away all summer.

Just as he thought he might hyperventilate, Draco felt the presence of two solid bodies on either side of him.

Longbottom.

Ginny.

"Come sit with us. McGonagall cleared you to sit at the Gryffindor table, right?"

Draco felt himself nod, almost involuntarily.

"Come on then." Ginny clapped him on the back and led him over to an empty stretch of bench. She and Neville settled themselves across from him on the far side of the table. The thought that Longbottom's presence—of all people—had made him feel comfortable… his eye twitched.

Hermione settled down beside him. Shiloh was strapped to her chest over her robes, head lolling and mouth hanging open in a sleepy stupor. Not even the dull roar of the entire school filing in seemed to disturb her.

"Seems milk really did the trick," he whispered. "She's out."

"Let's just hope she stays that way," Hermione whispered back. "Otherwise we're going to have to make a quick exit. You know how grumpy she gets when she wakes up."

Draco groaned. He definitely knew. That was not something he wanted to deal with in the middle of the Welcoming Feast.

His daughter's nickname might have been 'pixie' most of the time, but her screaming was far more akin to that of a banshee.

After another minute of chatter as students filtered in, the dull roar in the hall died quickly as Professor Sprout, Deputy Headmistress, opened the large doors. Behind her, a group of first years, eyes wide with fear, trailed like little ants in a line.

As Draco turned his head to watch the firsties process through the Great Hall, his eyes moved past the Slytherin table. He had stopped paying attention to first years in his house ages ago. Even when he had been made a prefect for fifth year, he hadn't really bothered to learn the names of younger students. Scanning the table now, he only recognized a handful of people. And among that group, the only people he knew remotely well were all huddled together on the end of the table farthest from the professors and impending sorting ceremony.

Theo was there, nose still buried in a book. Next to him, Blaise. And though he could only see the backs of their heads, he easily recognized Pansy, Daphne, and Astoria. Unlike the occupants of other tables, they were leaned in and whispering instead of chatting animatedly. Blaise was glowering, his eyes narrowed and his lip curled in sneer as he spoke.

Unlike Theo, who had always kept his opinions to himself, Blaise had a nasty side to him. Draco had witnessed it firsthand through the years. He wasn't as forthcoming as Crabbe or Goyle—or nearly as stupid. He was sly, instead. And charming when he wanted to be. Plenty of girls during fifth and sixth year had practically fallen over themselves from a mere wink in their direction. Of course, Blaise had viewed them as little more than his playthings.

As to his views on blood supremacy or the Dark Lord? Draco was also unsure of that. He was nothing if not subtle. Looking at him now, Draco wasn't sure whether to count him as a friend or a foe. Theo still seemed to fall under the former category but Blaise… he was a difficult study.

Draco's vision came into focus as his mind returned to the present. It seemed he had been staring.

Blaise stared right back, a funny glint in his eye.

He couldn't help but feel a bit shaken as he turned back toward the Gryffindor table, his eyes refocusing on the sorting hat.

Knowing Blaise was still watching him left a pit in his stomach gnawed away all through sorting, the meal, and announcements. Hermione seemed to notice that something was off, because she took hold of his hand and held it through the entire event.

When the school was finally dismissed at the end of the feast, Draco noticed that all the eighth-year students were milling about, unsure of how to proceed. The Head Boy and Head Girl positions had gone to seventh years, so none of them had any sort of specific responsibility regarding their houses.

It seemed McGonagall had noticed their confusion, because she came down from the head table and called for all the eighth years to gather.

"Right, then." McGonagall began, her voice stiff as usual. "Since this particular year of students is experiencing something rather unique, I have decided to create a special dormitory just for the Hogwarts eighth year students. Having your own space will not only allow you to exercise your rights as of-age wizards and witches, but also gives you a space to create a strong bond and a sense of unity."

At this point, the older witch looked out at the crowd of eighteen year-olds staring at her. Draco followed her gaze. Some students seemed intrigued by the idea while others looked a bit uncomfortable. He wasn't sure which camp he fell in, himself.

He wasn't even sure that he would be staying in this dormitory. With Shiloh, surely he and Hermione would have to use specially-arranged housing. Where that would be, Draco hadn't the foggiest idea. Perhaps an empty professor's quarters would suffice.

"Your new dormitory is located along the fifth floor corridor behind the painting of the phoenix. The password is 'unity.' Unlike other dormitories, you have each been assigned a roommate. Those assignments will be listed on each door within the dormitory."

McGonagall's expression shifted suddenly. The sternness fell away to reveal something far softer he had only seen once before, back in the hospital wing after Shiloh was born. It was something akin to affection.

"I cannot express how humbled I am that so many of you chose to return to Hogwarts to complete your magical education after all that happened here last year. Many of you were there when our school became a battleground, and for that, I am both grateful and sorry. I only hope that this year, you can find some peace here." Her piece spoken, the headmistress cleared her throat. "Well then. That's that. Off to bed with you all."

McGonagall turned back to the staff table as the other students began filing toward the entrance hall. Still a bit confused about housing, Draco exchanged a brief look with Hermione before stepping forward.

"Professor…erm…"

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco fought his instinct to sneer at the professor he had disliked for seven years.

"I was wondering about the living situation for… for me and Hermione." He paused for a moment. "And Shiloh," he added for good measure.

"You and Miss Granger shall be staying in the dormitory with the rest of the eighth year students. You have been assigned your own room."

"Oh, erm, thank you." The words felt funny on his tongue.

"Of course, Mr. Malfoy. We are trying to make your transition back to school as smooth as possible. Hello, Miss Granger. Are you doing well?"

Hermione had stepped forward to join their conversation. "I am, professor. Thank you."

"And the little one?" McGonagall gestured to Shiloh, who was still fast asleep against her mother's chest.

"Doing well, I think. Finally sleeping through the night."

Draco watched as the corner of the headmistress's mouth twitched.

"Excellent. Well then, I won't keep you. Go on and catch up with the rest of your classmates."

As promised, the new dormitories were located on the fifth floor. It felt a bit odd to Draco, walking up the stairs at Hogwarts to go to bed. For years, he had called the dungeons home. His bed had been illuminated by light filtering through the Black Lake. Instead of birds, he would watch grindylows and the giant squid swim past the window.

This new location for a dormitory almost didn't seem right.

Hermione would be right at home, though. The entrance to Gryffindor Tower was on the seventh floor, so surely, she was happy to be returning to a vaguely familiar direction.

When they arrived, the portrait had already been opened, and students were making their way inside. They crossed the threshold last. Inside, they were met with a common room draped in soft greys and browns. Neutral colors. Only a series of tapestries on the walls gave any indication of house loyalty. Hanging together in succession were the woven images of a badger, an eagle, a lion, and a snake.

Surrounding the common room were a series of doors along an upper floor. On each door, a small plaque.

Various students were calling out as they read them.

"Oi! Hannah! You're over here," cried one girl.

Two boys high-fived when they were paired together. Finnegan and Thomas.

Draco and Hermione climbed the stairs to scour the upstairs corridor for their own room. On the way, they passed a rather green-looking Longbottom.

"I'm paired with Nott," he moaned quietly to Hermione. "I don't know what to make of him."

"He's not so bad," said Draco. "He's really just a bookworm. Rather like our lovely swot here. Just less obnoxious about it."

Hermione kicked him lightly in the shin for that comment.

Longbottom looked a little relieved.

They found their room on the far end of the corridor. Their names were written on a bronze plaque just like everyone else. Pushing the door open, Draco lit the lamps with a flick of his wand.

His jaw fell open.

This was no ordinary dormitory room.

It looked more like a fully-furnished flat.

They were currently standing in a kitchen, complete with an oven and an ice box. Up ahead, he could see three doors. Hermione was already exploring.

"Oh, Draco, look!" She had stuck her head in the middle door. "All of Shiloh's things! And her cot's here, too. Oh, thank Merlin we have the space for it. I knew it had been brought over, but I was so worried about where we would put it."

Draco internally grimaced. He had been so preoccupied about returning to school that he hadn't properly thought about where his daughter would sleep.

The room on the right turned out to be a bathroom with a specially-charmed bathtub that could be shrunk or expanded to bathe just the baby or one of them.

The last room was their own bedroom. Draped in neutral colours and wood tones, it immediately gave Draco a sense of serenity when he stepped inside. Given how agitated he had been all day and how he had been worried that a bedroom above ground at Hogwarts wouldn't feel inviting, it was a relief to know he could call this place home for the next ten months.

"It's nice, isn't it?" said Hermione, setting Shiloh down on the bed before lying on top of the grey comforter.

"Surprisingly so. Who'd've thought the elves knew how to decorate using anything but the school colours?"

Hermione shot him a look.

"But a queen-sized bed is nice," she said after a minute. "I wasn't sure if we would be separated and sleeping in single beds this year."

He had definitely thought about that. In the past month, he had tried to shag Hermione as many times as he could muster, knowing that there was a good chance they wouldn't be living together during the school year. But now? He couldn't help the wolfish grin that crossed his face.

Draco moved to sit beside his girlfriend. Being given this bed meant that on some level, the professors were giving them permission to shag. And he fully intended to take advantage.

Leaning over, he kissed Hermione's neck lightly, his lips brushing the spot just below her ear. She hummed in appreciation, but pulled away.

"I kind of wanted to go down to the common room and catch up with everyone," she admitted sheepishly. "Sorry."

Draco tried to shake off his disappointment. "That's all right. Another time, then."

"I'm going to take Shiloh with me. She needs to stay up another couple of hours and I'm sure she'll love all the attention."

He grunted in agreement. Looking over at the infant, he couldn't help but agree. She had woken up on their walk up to the dormitory and was now trying to suck on her hands. Shiloh loved to meet people, and he didn't want to deprive Hermione of showing off her daughter to the rest of their cohort.

"Are you going to come?" she asked as she changed Shiloh's wet nappy on the bed.

"I think I'm going to stay here. Get some rest."

Hermione looked up for a moment. Her eyes flashed with recognition.

He knew then that she knew. She knew that he wasn't ready. He wasn't ready to face everyone downstairs. Not all at once. Not yet.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

She didn't push after that. Instead, she simply finished the nappy change before scooping up the baby, kissing his forehead, and heading out the door to the common room.

That night, Draco fell asleep alone for the first time since his stint in the Ministry's holding cells.

* * *

**SPECIAL ANNOUNCEMENT**

**For those who don't know, my story, The Gift of Joy has been nominated in the Granger Enchanted 2020 Awards for Most Kick-Ass Hermione. Not only has it been nominated, but it's made it to the final rounds. You can vote here (REMOVE SPACES, add usual https and dot com part - sorry FFN has stupid formatting): docs. google / forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSc9j4bPnjfVw1jqlAb2ScHQRNIHYLlIgE5GWK8ZU_w1o78Ebw/viewform**

**Obviously, there are so many amazing authors who are also nominated, so don't feel obligated to vote for me. But please do if you want to!  
**

**Voting ends April 30.**

**I hope you are all staying healthy and stable. My real life was rather difficult this past week, but I'm looking forward to hearing from all of you in the comments.**

**Love to you all!  
BiscuitsForPotter**


	6. Chapter 6

**They're back to Hogwarts! So many of you had thoughts and opinions about what lies in store for our favorite little family.**

**I hope you're all doing well 3**

**Thanks as always to MsMerlin and GracefulLioness**

* * *

Nearly three weeks into term, Draco wasn't sure if he had ever felt so overworked in his life. Now, on top of caring for his infant daughter, he had schoolwork to contend with. In between feedings, nappy changes, and play time, he had essays to write, problem sets to do, and passages of library books to read. It was as though his brain no longer had the luxury of ever shutting off.

It was likely that Hermione was feeling just as overwhelmed as him, but he wasn't sure. The woman knew how to handle her stress without any sort of indication she might be overextended. When he was stressed, he got bags under his eyes and spots on his forehead like he was some damned mountain troll. But not Hermione. The only real difference he spotted was greater coffee consumption. He had only ever seen her sip a single cup in the morning. Now, she now drank at least three cups a day. Sometimes four.

Because Hogwarts had double the number of NEWT students this year, the courses had doubled up. Two sections were offered of certain NEWT-level classes. Potions, Herbology, Charms, Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts each had two sections. All the others only had one.

McGonagall had thought through this decision especially carefully, it seemed, because he and Hermione had been scheduled to take opposite classes for the most part. She took Potions on Monday mornings and he took it on the same day, but in the afternoon. By placing them on opposite schedules, someone was always around to watch Shiloh and neither of them would be forced to take her to class.

Thus, Draco and Hermione did a hand-off each day at lunch. One of them minded Shiloh in the morning and the other took over during the afternoon. It was a fairly brilliant plan.

The only issue they ran into was with Arithmancy.

Both of them had decided to take the subject, but the only section was offered on Thursday afternoons.

The two of them had been in a near panic of what to do with their daughter. Hermione had spent the morning in Ancient Runes, and all the while, Draco had paced back and forth in their dormitory bouncing Shiloh in his arms, trying to think of some solution to their conundrum. Bringing her to class was out of the question. Arithmancy was difficult and uptight, and he could hardly imagine Professor Vector being flexible enough to allow a baby to attend.

Hermione had suggested earlier in the week that a classmate could watch Shiloh, but Draco immediately turned down the idea.

"I don't want someone I barely know watching her," he grumbled as he cradled the baby in his arms.

"What are you talking about? We've known these people since we were eleven." Hermione admonished as she looked up from her homework.

"_You_ know them. I've hardly spoken to any of them, save for my own housemates. And I hardly want to leave Shiloh with the likes of Pansy Parkinson."

What he didn't say aloud were all the fears that were flying around his mind. That someone would drop her. Or forget to feed her. Or, Merlin forbid, would do something to harm her purposely. Certainly, there were people outside of school who thought ill of their child and would go out of their way to harm her. Just the thought of it made him want to vomit.

If that was true, what would have prevented someone like that from slipping into Hogwarts?

In the end, the Patil twins had come through, offering to keep an eye on the infant while the two of them went to class. Draco was by no means close to them, but they seemed all right enough.

And so it had gone for the last three weeks. Various seventh and eighth years had volunteered to watch Shiloh during Arithmancy and when both of them had to focus on studying. It seemed to be working out so far, but Draco couldn't help the uncomfortable lurch his stomach gave every time he handed his daughter away.

Of course, he was most comfortable when Ginny or Luna watched her. But sometimes, they just weren't available. One evening during the second week, Daphne Greengrass had hesitantly asked if she could watch Shiloh. Hermione had agreed in good faith rather quickly, but Draco had been reluctant. He couldn't forget that huddle his old housemates had shared on their first night.

However, not one of Shiloh's babysitters had yet to harm her in any way, so he supposed that he would have to show a little more trust.

The morning of the third Friday of the term, Draco and Hermione sat at the Gryffindor table as usual; he was sipping tea while she was gulping down the remains of her second cup of coffee. Ginny sat across from them with Shiloh on her knees. The baby had recently started sitting up on her own, and was happily gumming at a spoon while Ginny ate her cornflakes.

"Got any special plans this weekend?" She looked up at Hermione in anticipation.

Draco paused halfway through chewing a piece of bacon. Why would they have plans? Other people made plans—had fun the way that teenagers were supposed to. He and Hermione would be spending their weekend with their daughter as usual.

"Not yet," answered Hermione. "I didn't have anything in mind."

"But it's your birthday. You have to do something!"

Draco choked.

_Shite. How could he have forgotten? _

"I honestly don't. I'm up to my eyeballs in homework. We've got that essay for Flitwick and I need to research how to care for different strains of wand-producing trees."

"Oh, come off it. That can wait until Sunday at least."

"I don't know…" She groaned and glanced at her watch. "Look, I need to get to Defense. I'll see you at lunch, all right?"

Pushing up from the bench, she leaned over and kissed Draco sweetly on the lips. As she pulled away, he searched her eyes.

"We'll talk later, okay?" Hermione whispered, giving his shoulder a squeeze.

He gave a noncommittal grunt as she walked toward the Entrance Hall.

Immediately, Ginny rounded on him.

"You forgot, didn't you?"

"Wha—? Of course not… well, I—"

"You wanker!"

"Hey!" He snapped. "_You_ try raising a kid and keeping up with schoolwork at the same time. See how much you remember outside of that!"

Ginny put a hand up in defense. "Look, I don't know about all that. But what I do know is that Hermione deserves a good birthday after all she's been through."

Draco huffed as guilt began to creep up his chest.

"What did she get you for your birthday?"

It took him a moment before he remembered. Fishing the necklace from his shirt, he pulled out the pebble she had made into a pendant and dangled it from his fingers.

"She got me this and… erm…"

A particularly lovely memory of her lovely mouth going down, down, _down_ flashed in his mind, and he tried to fight the heat gathering in his cheeks.

Ginny made a face. "Don't need to know the details."

As Ginny recovered, Luna made her way over to the Gryffindor table and sat beside him.

"What doesn't Ginny need to know the details of?"

"It doesn't matter," Draco quickly said.

"Draco forgot Hermione's birthday. Which is tomorrow. He needs a gift idea." Ginny bounced Shiloh on her knees as she spoke. "You know you could always go the safe route and get her a book," she suggested.

"Book. Right." he murmured, half to himself.

"If it were my birthday, I would ask for a feather from a Thunderbird. They're supposed to have wonderful protective properties, you know."

Somehow, it wasn't surprising that this particular suggestion came from Luna. If it had been anyone other than her who would have suggested such a ridiculous gift, he would have chewed them out for such a stupid idea. But, admittedly, he had a strange soft spot for the Lovegood girl.

"I really don't think she'd like that," he offered. "I'll just have to think on it. Here, let me take Shiloh. She's getting fussy." He stretched his arms across the table to take his daughter back from Ginny.

"Well you better think fast, lover boy," Ginny teased as she handed Shiloh over.

Back in the eighth year common room, Draco collapsed onto a sofa cushion and sighed. How had he managed to forget Hermione's birthday?

He really was a wanker.

"Oi, I can hear you thinking hard from over here," a male voice spoke from across the room. "Cut it out." He whipped around to find Theo sitting in an armchair by the stairs.

Draco sighed. "Oh, it's just you."

"Just me indeed. I can see it's not just you, though. You've got the little sprog with you."

Draco instinctively cuddled Shiloh closer to his chest. "What's it to you?"

"Nothing. Just making an observation." He set his book down and meandered over. "So tell me. What's eating at you? Clearly it's something. Manage to knock Granger up again? That would certainly make this year interesting."

Draco glared as Theo chuckled.

"I'm only joking, of course. But seriously, Malfoy. What's up?"

Throwing a sneer in his friend's direction, Draco relaxed a bit.

"It's Hermione's birthday tomorrow and I've bollocksed it all up by forgetting."

"Well you've remembered just in time, so I don't see the problem."

Draco's scowl deepened. Theo didn't flinch, but instead, settled onto the arm of the sofa beside him.

"Just ask the bird what she wants. Seems to me that she gives and gives and hardly gets anything in return. If you ask her, then you're bound to get it right. She'll be happy no matter what that way."

Draco blinked. Could the answer be that simple? Just… _ask? _

"What if she wants to be surprised?"

"Granger got pregnant by accident last year. I'm sure she's had her fill of surprises."

Though he grimaced, he couldn't help but understand Theo's logic.

"All right, then. I'll just ask her. Erm… thanks, Theo."

The dark-haired boy nodded before pushing himself off the arm rest. "You're welcome or whatever. Just glad this is the problem you're dealing with this year. Much better than that shite you dealt with during sixth year."

Without another word, Theo walked off toward the stairs leading to the dormitory rooms. Draco was left with his infant on his lap, wondering exactly what was going on in the mind of his mysterious classmate.

That night, after classes and dinner had finished for the day, both Draco and Hermione sat around their little kitchen table writing essays for Transfiguration. As their quills scratched parchment, Draco decided that now was as good a time as any to bring up her birthday.

"You want to know what I want for my birthday?" asked Hermione, glint of amusement in her eye. "You don't want to surprise me?"

"Well, erm… It's not that, exactly. I just—" He could feel himself growing a bit hot around the collar as his girlfriend stared at him inquisitively. "You… you are such a terrific mum and you are always giving and giving and well…"

Bullocks. He was forgetting Theo's words.

"I just want you to get what you actually want for your birthday. So… erm… what do you want?"

Hermione set her quill down and stared at him for a minute. He could feel his ears heating up. He was shite at this whole 'boyfriend' thing. He just knew it. Fatherhood, he had a strange handle on. But this? This was definitely more difficult.

"Honestly?" sighed Hermione, leaning on her elbow. "I just want some quiet time with you. I feel like I haven't breathed properly since we got here."

"Quiet time?" The answer almost didn't make sense to him. Every girl he had ever been close to before Hermione would have demanded jewelry, an expensive meal, or some sort of beautiful and exotic magical object for their birthday. He had seen the way Pansy had eyed jewelry counters when they visited Hogsmeade. But _'quiet time'_ as a birthday present? It seemed like an odd choice.

"Yes. Just a nice, quiet family night when we don't have to worry about studying or being social. Just you, me, and Shiloh being a proper family. I think I'd like that."

Draco nodded slowly, still struggling to wrap his mind around the simplicity of the request. "All right, then. A quiet family night."

Hermione smiled and scratched away on her parchment once again. Watching the way she worked, the way that she sucked on the end of her quill as she wrote, Draco knew that he wanted to give her the birthday she deserved.

For the first time in months Hermione slept in. Draco made sure of it. When Shiloh began to whimper at six in the morning, he gently coaxed his girlfriend back to sleep before hauling himself out of bed to attend to the infant. By the time she appeared in the kitchen three hours later, hair wilder than usual and a sleepy smile on her face, Draco had already changed, fed, and winded his daughter, and was currently lying with her on a blanket in the nursery.

Before she could so much as murmur a sleepy greeting, he stood and placed a mug of steaming coffee in her hands and kissed her cheek.

Through the rest of the day, he made sure to give Hermione all of the quiet time she wanted. After lunch, Draco led the three of them on a walk around the Black Lake in the autumn sunshine; when Hermione mentioned that the day was perfect for reading, he produced one of the unread books from her shelf and the three of them settled under an oak tree by the water.

The talk at dinner that night centered around a considerable amount of firewhisky that Finnegan had somehow smuggled into the castle. Excited whispers passed around the Gryffindor eighth years, and soon, of-age students from other tables were passing by the Lions' table slowly, clearly eavesdropping.

Draco listened with amusement, a tiny tug of envy in his chest. If he was honest with himself, a glass of firewhisky sounded perfect right about now. As Finnegan began to describe the massive amounts of alcohol stored in his trunk at this very moment, Draco tried to distract himself by taking another bite of mashed potatoes while carefully avoiding Shiloh's reaching hands.

It didn't work.

"Do you want to join them?" Hermione asked him pointedly from beside him. "I'd understand if you do."

"That's all right." He smiled before giving her hand a reassuring pat. "This is your birthday. You wanted a quiet night, so that's what we'll do."

Hermione offered a closed-mouth smile. "I promise we'll join in on the raucous fun some time, all right?"

"Of course." Draco smiled back and returned to his dinner, trying to block out the sounds of his classmates' eager discussion about their plans for tonight. "Besides, I have a special plan for us."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Oh, do you? And what is it, might I ask?"

Draco shrugged. "You'll just have to wait and find out."

When Hermione turned back to her supper, he swallowed and licked his lips. He only hoped that his fairly unimaginative plan wouldn't disappoint her.

When dinner finished, the little family made their way up the stairs with the rest of the students. Hermione kept shooting him suspicious looks, though she didn't say anything. All around them, their classmates chatted animatedly about the fun night ahead of them as they climbed the stairs toward the common room.

The crowd reached the fifth floor, and Hermione made to follow everyone else. But before she could turn left, Draco gently grabbed hold of her arm.

"Come on. We're going this way."

Draco couldn't help but feel a bit of pride as Hermione shot him a puzzled look, a grin dancing on her face. They made their way down the corridor to the right until a statue of a confused-looking man with a funny mustache materialized out of the darkness.

Hermione's eyes widened. Surely, she had caught on by now. "Is this…? But we don't have access! We're not Heads, let alone Prefects."

"I got the password off of the Head Boy. It's not a big deal."

"But if we get caught—"

"—which we won't. And if it makes you feel any better they're changing the password next week anyway. That's what that Ravenclaw kid said."

Hermione sighed. "Well, a bath really does sound nice, I suppose."

Draco's grin spread from ear to ear as he gave the password. "Fluffy suds."

The moment they entered the room, Draco reached into his pocket and pulled out a rucksack he had shrunk before dinner. Upon enlarging it, he revealed three fluffy towels, Hermione's pale green swimming costume, and his plain, grey trunks.

"Only if you want to wear it," he said as he handed her the costume with a wink. "I wouldn't mind a bit of birthday skinny dipping, myself."

To his slight dismay, Hermione rolled her eyes before accepting the garment.

But no matter.

_It's her birthday_, he reminded himself as he turned on a handful of interesting-looking taps around the tub. Once they were both changed, he cast an Impervious charm onto Shiloh's nappy and Hermione slid into the tub with an audible sigh of pleasure. Draco grinned. Just watching that alone was well worth missing drinking firewhisky with the others. The sounds she made as she settled into the water—the groans and moans—were enough to send a shiver down his spine and right to his groin.

Yes. This had definitely been a good idea.

Once Hermione had settled into the water, he handed her the baby before sliding in. It was perfect. Sliding in up to his chest, he felt perfectly enveloped by warmth. All the muscles in his body relaxed as he leaned against the side of the tub beside Hermione.

Just as he turned to kiss her, Shiloh gave a shriek and flailed her arms, splashing soapy water right in his face.

"_Augh_, Shiloh!" Draco's eyes stung, and he rubbed them violently with the back of his hands.

When he opened his eyes again, Hermione was stifling a laugh.

"I'm sorry," she said through a giggle. "She's just so happy and has absolutely no idea."

"Yeah, yeah."

Hermione moved her hand away from her mouth, leaving a trail of bubbles along her face. This time, it was Draco who laughed, though he made no effort to conceal it.

"What? What is it?" she asked, adjusting a still-shrieking Shiloh in her arms.

"You… well, you've gone and given yourself a bubble beard."

Hermione scooped a handful of suds in her hand and rubbed them along his chin before doing the same thing to their daughter. "There. Now we all match."

Draco leaned over and gave his girlfriend the kiss he had meant to give her before.

"You taste like soap," she whispered.

"I could say the same about you."

Shiloh seemed intrigued by the water, and Draco delighted in helping to introduce his daughter to the delights of swimming. The little family splashed about for a long while, unaware of anything outside the prefect's bathroom. Hearing Shiloh laugh and seeing Hermione fully relax for the first time in a long while, he began to understand why this was what she wanted for her birthday.

In that very moment, they felt like a normal family. The two of them weren't some sort of public spectacle. They weren't trying to compromise their dual roles as students and as parents, either. As he watched Shiloh delight at Hermione blowing bubbles in the water, Draco felt the envy that had filled his veins earlier evaporate completely.

Sure, downing firewhisky with friends was fun. And there would be time for that later. But this? This was something he couldn't take for granted.

When Shiloh grew fussy, Hermione lowered her swimming costume and fed the baby. Draco watched with contentment as his daughter drank her fill, her eyes slowly drooping. Wordlessly, he climbed from the tub and fetched the bag he had brought with him. He withdrew a shrunken portable cot from inside and enlarged it.

Hermione made to climb out as well, but he motioned for her to stay. Instead, he ducked down and laid Shiloh out on a towel, changed her nappy, and summoned a pair of yellow pyjamas. By the time he finished and set her down in the cot, she was fast asleep.

"Very impressive, Draco," said Hermione as he slid back into the tub. "It seems you've thought of everything."

"For your birthday, I tried." He winked and settled beside her once more. But as he looked to his left, he noticed something off about her.

Or rather, he noticed that something was actually off of her. That cheeky witch.

"Wait, Hermione. When in Salazar's name did you take your swimming costume off?"

"I may have vanished it while you were over by the cot." She spoke nonchalantly, but her dark eyes had a glint of lust in them.

"Oh, you _may_ have? You're not sure? And here I thought you were the brightest witch in our year."

Hermione stuck her tongue out at him, and he smirked back at her.

Keenly aware of his girlfriend's nakedness, Draco adjusted himself in his trunks as Hermione settled herself into his side.

"Are you sure you're all right, being here with me and Shiloh instead of partying in the common room?"

He sighed. "I'm not going to lie to you. A part of me wishes I could join in. But I'm glad I'm here with you." He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Besides, we can find a different occasion in the coming months to pawn off our daughter and get completely sloshed."

Hermione chuckled. "Sounds like a plan. But in the meanwhile, what do you say, we have some extra fun right now?"

Draco raised his eyebrows as his very-naked girlfriend climbed on top of him, straddling his lap.

"I'd say that she is a very generous birthday girl, indeed."

The two of them sauntered down to a late breakfast in the Great Hall the next morning. Ginny had offered to watch Shiloh for the morning, and they accepted, eager to have a relaxed morning together.

Draco couldn't wipe the smile off his face. Though it had been Hermione's birthday last night, she had been incredibly… generous with her skills. As they found their seats, Hermione nudged him, a reminder to not let the entire school know what they had been up to the night before.

No sooner had they sat down when two different owls swooped down from the ceiling to drop letters on their plates.

Draco grabbed the one that had landed directly in front of him. Turning it in his hands, he immediately recognized the handwriting. He couldn't help the flashes of hot and cold that surged through his veins simultaneously at the script.

The letter was from none other than his mother.

With unsteady hands, he opened the wax seal and read the message.

_My dearest Draco,_

_I understand that we have not spoken since May, but I am writing to officially reach a peace with you. When one as typically busy as myself is placed under house arrest, it gives one time to truly think about topics which one has never taken the time to consider before. _

_And so, I write to you with this message: _

_I miss you, my dragon. I miss you terribly. Though I clearly do not understand all you have been through that led you to procreate with Miss Granger, I want to listen to what you have to say. I want to be a part of your life and a part of your daughter's. Merlin knows, there hasn't been a Malfoy daughter in a long while, and it would be a shame for her not to know her grandmother. _

_Please do not feel the need to respond if you are still uncomfortable. I would rather we skip unpleasantries and wait until you are ready to speak to me. _

_Take care, my son._

_Mother._

Draco set the parchment down on the table. His breathing was coming in short, sharp pants. Blinking, he re-read the letter. Had he actually just received a letter from his mother—his mother who would never approve of Hermione in a million years. His mother, who had made her disdain for anyone less than pureblood well known.

His mother, who had lied to protect Potter—to protect him.

He groaned into his hands. How was this letter supposed to make him feel? Happy? Perhaps there was part of him that was relieved to hear from his mother. But it was certainly causing more anxiety than anything else.

Letter still in hand, Draco turned to face Hermione and show it to her. But as his eyes fell on her form, he froze.

Hermione also held a piece of parchment in her hands.

Hands that were shaking.

Draco looked up at her. Though she wasn't crying, there was distinct fear in her eyes. Her whole body trembled as she soaked in the contents of the parchment in her hands.

"Hermione? What is it? What's going on?" he implored, scooting over to her side.

Silently, she tilted the parchment in his direction. What he read sent a chill from the top of his head all the way down his body.

_YOU THINK YOU CAN FOOL US ALL WITH YOUR INNOCENT FAMILY._

_BUT YOU ARE ANYTHING BUT INNOCENT. _

_YOU ARE NOTHING BUT A DEATH EATER'S WHORE, AND THE BABY SHOULD BE KEPT AWAY FROM SCUM LIKE HIM. _

With no signature at the bottom, no indication as to who sent it, Draco had nowhere to direct the terrified rage that began to burn him from the inside out.

* * *

**What's that I spy? Stakes? No, we weren't all finished with them after Draco's arrest, lovelies. Sorry! (no I'm not)**

**So appropriate that I posted this chapter today - it's Hermione's birthday in the story and my own birthday (yesterday) IRL. Happy birthday to me! I ate pie and built Harry Potter Legos with my best friend. All in all, a win. **

**So much love to all of you 3 3 3**


	7. Chapter 7

**HUGE thank you to MsMerlin and GracefulLioness.**

**PLEASE READ END NOTE. **

* * *

It had been a month since they received the threatening note, and Draco hardly let his guard down. Though Hermione had reported it immediately to McGonagall, he couldn't stop the gnawing feeling that ate away at his peace of mind as he tried to fall asleep each night. The words on that parchment danced in front of his closed eyelids, taunting him.

They had called his girlfriend a Death Eater's whore.

They had called him scum.

When the words ate away at him so much that sleep eluded him, he often found himself wandering out of the safe haven of bed and over to their little kitchen. He sat at the table well into the night, angry thoughts stewing in his head, praying that he might be able to forget them long enough to find sleep.

It rarely did.

This was all his fault. It was because of his position—his identity—that they had received that note in the first place. If Hermione had gotten pregnant by someone else—_anyone else_, she wouldn't have been called a-a…

Draco couldn't bear to even think the slur again.

But what was worse were the dregs of anxiety left behind long after the incident had been reported. The note hadn't been a threat, per se. But it had set Draco on edge. Whoever sent it had vicious intentions. They were the lowest of the low. Who knew what they were capable of?

Despite his acquittal, he had come to terms months ago that various wizards or witches might still have it out for him. That, he understood.

But the idea that someone would go after Hermione—might even go after Shiloh…

Draco didn't know if he was strong enough to protect them from an invisible enemy.

And it was all his fault.

Logically, he knew they were safe in their little dormitory flat. Hermione had begun placing special enchantments over the door before they went to sleep each night. No one would be able to get in without the proper authorization or several specific, complex unlocking charms.

Even with the precautions, sleep still refused to come.

He also took to covering his arms at all times. Even in the crowded, smoky potions lab, his normally pushed-up sleeves stayed buttoned at his wrists. Instead of going shirtless as normal when he climbed into bed each night, he began to slip on a long-sleeved shirt. The fabric scratched, particularly on the spot where his Dark Mark was still burned into his skin. But he would rather the shirts irritate him than leave the tattoo out there. The thought of that blemish bared to the world left him feeling exposed—torn open—for everyone to examine and whisper about.

Draco hated feeling like this.

Of course, Hermione noticed the change right away. She was nothing if not observant, that brilliant witch. But then again, how could she not notice? She'd begun to wake up alone more often than not, with his side of the bed empty and cold. For weeks, she said nothing about it. In the mornings she would simply join him in the kitchen, Shiloh on her hip, kiss him on the cheek, and accept the cup of coffee he had kept warm under a stasis charm.

Weeks and weeks without a peep from her. Just… silence. With each passing day, as his unease grew, so did the tension between the two of them.

Sometimes the silence grew so heavy that Draco needed to remove himself—to escape to somewhere that didn't feel so oppressive.

Sometimes he took walks around the lake.

Other times he just wandered around corridors rather aimlessly. When he did that, he often wondered if he still had the same swagger he used to. Back before the war. Before he was hated. Before he was a father.

On one particular stroll meant to clear his head, he found himself passing the potions classroom. Call it an old habit, but his feet often carried him down to the dungeons.

Just as he rounded a corner to head back upstairs, a group of familiar voices sounded from down the corridor, near the entrance to the Slytherin Common Room.

Theo. The Greengrass sisters. Pansy. Blaise.

In years past, he'd have called out without a second thought, ordering the lot of them to wait for him. He'd been their leader of sorts, always calling the shots.

Now, he wasn't sure who that role would fall to.

Theo, perhaps?

No, Theo was too soft.

Pansy, then? She was as shrewd as they came.

He raised his hand, prepared to yell after them, but just as quickly as the idea struck him, his confidence wilted.

This lot probably wanted nothing to do with him. They were always ignoring him in the Great Hall. Sure, he occasionally exchanged words with Theo. But Theo had always been a bit of a strange bloke.

Turning, Draco made to head back upstairs. Back to the uncomfortable silence with Hermione.

"Oi, Draco mate! Haven't seen you down here in a while."

Theo's voice echoed down the corridor and Draco froze. He hadn't expected the group to spot him. Spinning back, Draco put on his old, smug smile.

"What can I say? I like to keep my adoring fans on their toes."

Slipping into his old persona was like putting on a worn-in pair of Quidditch gloves. Comfortable. Easy.

Easy was nice.

He hadn't had anything easy in a while.

"I think Draco needs a remembrall if he thinks he ever had adoring fans." Pansy placed her hands on her hips.

"I seem to remember a fair bit of simpering on your part, Pans."

Theo elbowed her in the ribs and she scowled right back at him. Astoria and Daphne giggled behind them. Blaise just stared at the floor.

"I'll have you know that my parents have arranged an Italian suitor for me. Very rich. Very sexy." She shot Draco a pointed look. "No snot-nosed sprogs hanging off him."

Anger bubbled inside him at the jab. He thought of the letter. Of Hermione and the fear in her eyes and of his sweet little Shiloh. Draco opened his mouth to retort.

But Theo got there first.

"Come on, Pans. Leave the bloke alone. He's happy. Aren't you, mate?"

Was he happy?

The image of Shiloh popped into his head, a bright smile on her chubby face.

"Yeah." He nodded, pressing his lips together. "I am."

"She is cute," Daphne piped up. "Your daughter."

"Everyone thinks so," Astoria added.

"Yeah, he and Granger made a cute kid." Theo was grinning like an idiot.

Draco surveyed his friends, a sudden wave of uneasiness curling in his stomach.

"Yeah, well someone doesn't think so," he muttered, mostly to himself. The second he said it, regret rose in his throat. As much as he liked his old Slytherin mates, they weren't exactly the group to go to with potentially dangerous information. If they were anything like him—and they were—they'd find a way to use that information to their advantage. Loyal as they were to him... he was a changed man, for better or for worse.

Telling Ginny or Longbottom or hell, even Harry and Ron... somehow, that seemed different. They weren't the types to hold his discomfort against him. Maybe once when they were rivals, but not anymore. Especially not when Hermione's safety might be jeopardized.

It was an odd realization, looking at the friends he once held dear and realizing that they weren't the ones he needed to talk to—they weren't the ones he needed.

Even with the silence, he felt the sudden urge to return home.

"Yeah, she's really adorable." He shoved his hands in his pockets and turned toward the stairs. "Astoria, Daph, if you'd like to look after Shiloh sometime, you're welcome to. We could use a break every once in a while."

The sisters giggled.

"And you, Pans? You want to get in on the babysitting action?" Theo continued to jab at her.

"Please. You know as well as I do that I, and Blaise for that matter, want nothing to do with anything that can drool on us."

Blaise grumbled. Draco wondered if he was still staring at the floor.

"Suit yourself, "Draco started up the stairs. "See you around."

"Sit with us sometime!" Theo called. "In the Great Hall."

As he made his way back upstairs, he seriously considered the offer. He wouldn't mind a bit of light-hearted chatter or a heavy dose of sarcasm now and then. Maybe he even needed a little time with his friends. It would give him a little more time to delay the inevitable. Before he had to confront his anxieties head-on.

Because he would have to confront them when Hermione tried to get him to open him up.

She was like that. Wanting them to talk. Wanting him to be transparent about his feelings. About his fears.

His Slytherin friends weren't like that. There was an unspoken rule in that house about keeping certain things to yourself.

Draco used to scoff at how vulnerable Gryffindor idiots made themselves by opening up. It seemed like such a foolish thing to do.

That was, until the summer he spent with Hermione.

He knew now how important it was to talk about hopes and fears with the people he cared about most, but it was still incredibly hard.

Hermione would inevitably begin to push him to open up, and when she did, what would he say? That he was sorry people called her those awful things? That he was sorry that their daughter would always be considered less than because of his terrible actions? That he was now fearful for their safety?

He didn't know if he had the strength to say those things aloud.

Consequently Draco began to feel an odd sort of barrier build between them.

She didn't ask, and he didn't explain. Their conversations became stilted, mostly concerning the baby. Had she eaten? Who was watching her during class? How could they deal with the little case of the sniffles she had developed?

Draco's stomach ached with longing every time he stopped to think about how he missed talking to Hermione—_really _talking. He missed the endless conversations about nothing of consequence. The way she'd laugh, or sigh with feigned disapproval when he made a remark she didn't quite agree with.

Last summer, long expanses of silence between them had always been comfortable. Whenever a lull in the conversation had grown, the two of them had sunk into it easily, accepting the quiet as though it was meant to be, and in turn it had felt like _they_ were meant to be.

This silence… this was _different_. Unlike before, something seemed to constantly be hanging in the air between them. Draco knew that _something_ to be everything he was afraid to say. And he knew that if he kept it in much longer, he would blurt out how insecure he had felt since his days in the bowels of the Ministry.

He would catch her staring sometimes, her mouth slightly open as though she was on the cusp of finally asking—finally being that nosy, bossy girl he knew her to be and breaking through the wall that was slowly growing between them. But those moments were often short-lived, and for the life of him, he couldn't figure out what was going on in that bushy head of hers.

Draco wanted to fix this. To fix them. He wanted it to get better, somehow. But with Hermione not asking and him feeling too cowardly to give any answers, he wasn't sure how to climb out of this hole they had dug themselves into.

Despite whatever misunderstanding was growing between them, they didn't let it interfere with their love toward their daughter. As the end of October approached the weather turned chilly, and they began to stuff Shiloh into fuzzy pyjamas and soft jumpers. She had started also responding to her name, and would turn her head with a wide grin whenever they called out to her.

Draco wasn't sure anyone had ever smiled at him so sweetly. It was his daughter more than anything else that reminded him of the good still in the world these days.

Two weeks before Halloween, the three of them were eating breakfast in the Great Hall as usual when Hermione received a letter by owl post. Draco eyed the envelope with caution, as he had with every letter that had come their way since that awful incident nearly a month ago. Each bit of post that came made his breath hitch. Horrific scenarios played in his head when the mail arrived. He couldn't help the way that they spilled into his mind, dripping down to haunt his vision as she reached for the envelope.

He wanted to say something—to snatch it from her hands—but the silence between them felt like a brick wall, preventing him from reaching out to her.

It seemed Hermione didn't suffer from these worries as he did. Once the letter was in her hands, she immediately broke the wax seal and opened the envelope.

Draco waited with bated breath as Hermione's eyes flew down the page.

"It's Harry's writing."

Draco felt his heartbeat thump back to a more relaxed pace. It was from Harry. That was nothing to worry about. Still, he kept half an eye on Hermione as he tried to coax a bit of cereal into Shiloh's mouth with a colourful spoon. In between encouragements to his daughter, he saw her expression shift as she read, her mouth occasionally twitching into a small smile.

He had just managed to land a partial spoonful in Shiloh's mouth when she spoke.

"Harry and Ron have some time off this weekend."

"Oh?"

"It's their first break since they started Auror training."

"Good for them."

Draco felt genuinely glad for Ron and Harry. Though it still kind of pained him to admit it, they were decent blokes. They seemed like they'd be good listeners, and that was likely something Hermione needed right now. Not like his own friends, who always listened, but with a filter of self-interest.

He was genuinely happy that she would get time with her friends, though he wasn't sure how well that came across, given his current fixation on getting Shiloh's rice cereal into her mouth and not everywhere else.

"They were hoping that I could come visit and spend a night with them at Grimmauld Place. So that we could catch up," she clarified.

"When would this be?" Draco set the spoon down on the table. Shiloh was simply too wiggly for him to get any more food in.

"This weekend. Perhaps on Friday or Saturday?"

"Okay. Sounds good."

"I'll just have to figure out Shiloh's sleeping schedule. I'm also sure Ron and Harry will want to drink, and I'm not sure how comfortable I'll be with the two of them drunk around her."

She was rambling at this point, and if he knew his girlfriend as well as he thought, she was definitely overthinking and possibly starting to panic.

"—not that I don't want them to have a good time—"

"Hermione."

"—or that I don't want to have a good time—"

"_Hermione."_

Her clouded eyes came back into focus.

The two of them stared at each other for a moment as Draco searched for the right words to say. Why was this so awkward? It used to be easy…

Nothing was ever easy these days for him. Not since people only saw him for the tattoo on his forearm.

He tugged at his sleeves under the table.

Clearing his throat, Draco straightened. Bright as she was and even as awkward as things were, he was surprised she hadn't thought of the simplest solution.

"I've got it."

Hermione blinked. "What?"

"Shiloh," he explained. "I can take care of her so you can just… have fun with your friends. Besides, I don't want her around drunk Weasley if I can help it."

Hermione worried her lip.

Minor irritation burned in the back of Draco's throat. Did she not trust him completely with the baby? Or was it something else?

"Look, I feel just fine taking care of her alone. If it's the letter you're worried about, McGonagall knows—"

Hermione looked down at her porridge and shook her head.

Draco sighed. She still didn't want to talk about it. He could have sworn he felt another layer grow in the wall between them.

"Right...well, it's like I said. The offer's there if you want a night off."

"Are you sure?" Hermione's eyes dropped to her porridge. She lifted her spoon slightly, letting the contents plop back into the bowl. "It would be overnight, and I'm the one who usually wakes up with Shiloh. She still comfort nurses back to sleep and sometimes refuses a bottle. I just… I don't know…"

There she was, overthinking again.

Draco wanted to smash right through that bloody invisible wall and offer some sort of comfort.

"Hermione." Draco placed a hand on her shoulder. "It's fine. We'll be fine. I've got it."

Her eyes searched his before reaching out and lifting Shiloh off his lap. She cuddled the baby to her chest.

"It sounds silly, I know. But I haven't been apart from her since she was born."

"That's not silly."

"But it _is_. Logically, I know that you will be fine, but simply thinking about being away makes me want to cry."

"Which is why I think one night away from her would be good for you. She's going to come here as a student when she's eleven, and we're not coming with her. We might as well work up to it."

Hermione looked from her daughter to the students around the Great Hall, her gaze lingering on an excitable group of first-years several feet away.

She began to worry her lip again.

"Well… I suppose one night would be alright... It _would_ be nice to see Harry and Ron."

She handed Shiloh back to him before pulling a quill and spare parchment from her school bag and scribbling a quick response.

"I suggested Friday night into Saturday. Does that sound good to you?"

"It sounds perfect."

He tried to keep his tone light and reassuring as the owl took off toward the ceiling. As he watched the bird leave, its speckled wings stretched powerfully, the conversation between them died away.

With a kiss to Shiloh's forehead, Hermione stood to leave for class. Then she paused, leaned down, and offered him a kiss, too.

"I love you," she whispered in his ear. "And thank you."

As Hermione walked toward the Entrance Hall, bag swinging off her shoulder, Draco felt the ice between them start to melt for the first time in weeks. Perhaps this weekend away would be good for them.

Hermione said her goodbyes in front of the fireplace shortly after classes ended on Friday. Of course, this wasn't before she had practically shoved a piece of parchment into his hands that held all the details for Shiloh's complete care, down to the way to draw bogies out of her nose.

"Hermione, what is all this?" Draco nearly choked when he saw the extensive information she had crammed onto only one piece of parchment. "You _do _know that I've been caring for our daughter alongside you since she was born, right?"

"I know. I just…" She shifted, eyes shining. "Can you blame me for wanting you to be prepared?"

"And you think I'm not?"

"That's not what I said."

Draco glanced back at their daughter, who was fast asleep on one of the cushy armchairs a few feet away.

"Look, I know you mean well, but you've got to trust me. I know everything there is to know about Shiloh. I know what consistency to make her cereal. I know what colour her poo is supposed to be. I even know that melody you hum to her to get her to fall asleep—Able Vice—"

"Edelweiss."

"That's what I said, isn't it?"

Hermione snorted. "I just keep picturing something going wrong, is all. I haven't been apart from her since she was born."

Draco relished the back and forth with his girlfriend. He'd missed this dynamic they had. It almost felt like a shame to let her go now. Not when there was a hint of normalcy...

Still, she needed to go. She deserved to go. He just had to get her to quit stalling and walk into the Floo.

"_Granger."_ Her head snapped up at the use of her surname. He smirked. "It's just for the night. You'll be home tomorrow for dinner. We. Will. Be. Fine."

Giving the sleeping baby one final glance, Hermione exhaled and nodded.

"All right, then. Well… Floo me or warm your pebble if you need anything."

Draco reached midway down his chest and slid his fingers over the slight lump there, where his pebble necklace was hidden beneath his crisp school shirt. He hadn't taken it off once since he had been released from the Ministry. Not even when he showered. Not even when he slept… or rather, when he sat awake at night waiting for sleep to find him. Even when his relationship felt a little rocky, it was like a moor that kept him tied to what he knew to be important.

"I will," he said in earnest. "Now go. Your friends are waiting."

Hermione wrinkled her nose in that cute way he adored. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"You will."

With one final smile, she stepped into the grate and disappeared in a burst of emerald flames.

Suddenly, despite the presence of a handful of others, the common room felt infinitely quieter. Without fanfare, Draco slipped his arm under his daughter's limp, sleeping body and carried her up the stairs for what he hoped would be a quiet evening.

With a little assistance from Luna, Draco managed to swallow some dinner in the Great Hall. While the girl was odd, he had to hand it to her: she had a way with Shiloh. Every time the little girl was in Luna's arms, she cooed and smiled the whole time. He had just finished the last of his roasted potatoes when he noticed that Luna was looking at Shiloh with an amused expression on her face.

"She really does seem to love my necklace," Luna commented, gesturing toward her chest. Shiloh sat, fisting the string with one of the corks from her Butterbeer cork necklace shoved in her mouth.

"Sorry, Luna," said Draco, holding out his arms. "I can take her back if you like."

"Oh, that's quite all right. I don't mind the saliva."

"Saliva?"

Luna gestured to her stomach, where a large pool of drool had gathered, soaking through the fabric of her jumper.

"Oh, Fuck. Sorry," he repeated, Accioing a cloth to wipe off Shiloh's chin, which was currently dripping with spittle.

As much as he adored his daughter, he had to admit that this was rather an unglamourous part of parenthood. He would never admit out loud—especially around Hermione—that he would sometimes prefer to hire a house elf to take over partial care of the baby. There were just some things he preferred not to deal with. Like drool. And exploding poos.

Draco glanced over at the Slytherin table, where Theo, Blaise, Pansy, Daphne, and Astoria were huddled together, laughing about one thing or another.

They didn't have to deal with those sorts of things. Draco was sure if they did, they'd all hire house elves in a heartbeat like their mothers and father before them. Like his own mother and father.

But he was not a _father_ like Lucius Malfoy had been. Draco wasn't even sure if Father knew what exploding poo was.

No, he wasn't a father. He was a dad.

And a good dad at that, he could always tell when something wasn't quite right.

"She's been drooling more and more recently, but never this much," he commented, leaning down to get a better look at Shiloh's face. The cork from Luna's necklace currently in her mouth was darkened with spittle. Draco pulled it away, and the moment it left her gums, she gave an almighty wail.

Luna hastily handed her back.

The moment she sat in Draco's arms, Shiloh's cries grew to wild shrieks. He felt a ripple in the Great Hall as every eye turned to him, the normal rush of voices falling silent. Even the professors had stopped talking. Draco felt his cheeks flame. Stealing a glance back at the Slytherin table, he saw that the talking had stopped. Theo looked embarrassed for him. The Greengrass sisters looked worried. And Blaise seemed angry, almost. Somehow, their looks were the worst part of all this.

His eyes traveled further along the Great Hall. At the Hufflepuff table, Hannah Abbot seemed to be coaxing MacMillan to look away.

Through these gazes and stares, the weight of judgment closed in on him. Draco knew full well what stares felt like: that prickle on the back of his neck; the dread in the pit of his stomach, knowing that he was the center of attention. He had revelled in attention when he was younger but being the focus of the Dark Lord and then of the entire wizarding public was enough to turn him off from the spotlight forever.

He scowled to himself. Couldn't everyone just bloody well sod off?

Draco patted his daughter's back as her little face turned red and splotchy, her features scrunched up in anger. He went through a mental checklist of what could be wrong. When no immediate ideas appeared, his mind began to race.

What should he do? Stay here and try to calm her down? Stand up and see everyone's eyes as he made an incredibly conspicuous exit in the Entrance Hall, where his daughter's cries would undoubtedly echo even more?

Draco debated for a few seconds while he rocked her back and forth. As he rocked, a thought crossed his mind that turned him to ice.

All of these students, watching him… maybe they were having similar thoughts as the person who sent that note. That Shiloh should be kept away from him, a piece of scum. That he wasn't capable of caring for her.

That Shiloh shouldn't be here at all.

That she was scum, too.

Draco fought back the wave of anger that grew inside him.

"All right, you lot! Back to your dinners. All of you. There's nothing to see." Looking up, he saw that Ginny, who was seated across from him, had stood and was yelling at the rest of the school, her face an indignant scarlet. The anger inside of Draco ebbed and was instead replaced with gratitude.

He had never been so thankful for the presence of a fiery Weasley than at this exact moment. None of his friends would have done something so brash.

Gradually, the noise level in the Great Hall returned to its usual timbre.

"When will people at this school learn to mind their own business?" Ginny huffed, pulling a slice of cake toward her.

"To be fair, it's not very often that there's a baby at Hogwarts. They were likely curious," piped up Luna.

"They can leave their fucking curiosity back in their dorms," Draco growled, shooting a particularly nasty look at a group of third year Ravenclaw girls who were still peeking at the Gryffindor table over their shoulders. He would have marched over there and given them a piece of his mind if Shiloh's dummy hadn't fallen from her lips, making her whimpers louder.

Draco frowned, bouncing his arms more and making shushing noises.

"What's going on? She's never been this fussy before," he sighed with frustration. "Shiloh's always been so happy."

Luna reached forward and gently stroked wisps of brown hair on the baby's forehead. "Her aura is shifting, actually. It's usually such a happy yellow, but right now it's a muddy red. Reminds me of the pustule on a clabbert's forehead. It turns this colour when it's angry. Maybe she's upset?"

Draco gestured to his daughter's screwed up face. "You think?"

When another puddle of drool made an exodus from Shiloh's mouth, Draco wiped it away before peering inside.

Pulling Shiloh's lip down, Draco took the tip of his left index finger and ran it along his daughter's bottom gums. Where before they had been entirely pink and squishy, now he was met with two tiny but hard ridges in the very center.

_Ah._

"I think I figured it out." He let out a small puff of air, the corner of his lips lifting in a small smile. "She's got teeth coming in." As he felt the little ridges again, the pleasant feeling of discovery was quickly replaced with mild panic.

Teething? He didn't know the first thing about teething. Yes, he had the basics of Shiloh's care down, but he didn't have a clue what to do when something went wrong. Shiloh hadn't been sick before now. Just the sniffles. That didn't really count, did it?

Feeling entirely incompetent, Draco leaned down to fish around in the nappy bag. From inside, he drew out the list Hermione had compiled for him earlier that day. His girlfriend wasn't called brilliant for nothing. Perhaps she had written something about discomfort or pain relief for babies. His fingers closed in on the smooth parchment and he pulled it out. However, any sort of optimism he might have felt faded as he scanned the instructions.

Nothing. Absolutely _nothing_. There were instructions for activities for brain development and spells to encourage winding, but nothing about teething. His heart sank.

Shiloh chose that exact moment to resume her wailing.

Draco winced as he felt the back of his neck prickle again. People must have resumed their staring. Pushing aside the dregs of his pride, Draco whispered his admission to the only people he knew wouldn't judge him.

"Shit. I have no idea what to do. Do you know anything about teething?"

Ginny, Luna, and Neville all shook their heads.

"Why don't you Floo Hermione?" Neville suggested, wincing as Shiloh's screams reached a particularly ear-splitting pitch.

"I don't want to bother her," Draco insisted. "Besides, if I call her now, just three hours after she left, she'll think I can't handle this."

"Can you?" asked Luna plainly. "It seems like a foolish thing to do to not admit one's faults in this instance."

Draco responded with an indignant, "Of course I can!" but not before giving away his own uncertainty with the bobbing of his adam's apple.

Shiloh continued her discontentment through the rest of dinner, during the entire trek up the stairs, and long after Draco had settled into his little flat for the night. When she wasn't shrieking, she was whimpering pathetically, her bottom lip sticking out and her eyes filled with tears. He had never seen her so miserable, and no matter what he did, he couldn't seem to fix it.

It damn near broke his heart.

Finally, after rocking her for almost an hour while pacing back and forth in front of the dining table, he finally managed to settle her down into a sleepy state. Her little eyelids drooped so heavily that Draco could have sworn that she would make _him_ sleepy. It was with a relieved sigh that he placed her into her cot. Soft, steady breathing noises were the only sounds emanating from her tiny body.

With the quietest footsteps he had ever taken, Draco tiptoed from the nursery and made his way back to the kitchen. After pouring himself a small glass of Firewhisky he collapsed haphazardly into a chair, tumbler in one hand, the other rubbing his tired eyes.

He had done it. He had actually done it. The biggest meltdown his daughter had had to date, and he had handled the whole thing by himself. He hadn't lost his cool or panicked.

And he hadn't needed that ridiculous list Hermione had provided.

That last thought was one of particular triumph.

Not that parenting was a competition, of course. But with a partner as thorough as Hermione, it was hard not to feel second-best at times. Besides, it would be fun to laud this over her head at some point. He just had to find a convenient way.

Draco sipped on his drink, soaking in the delightful silence that pulsed around him. He now had the whole night to himself. Homework could come on Sunday. For now, he could just enjoy some rare alone time. Perhaps he would have a nice, long bath and a wank. That would do for a Friday night.

Still, as he stood to put that plan in motion, he couldn't help but glance at his daughter's nursery door, propped open four inches. The little voice in the back of his head, which had grown to sound more and more like his girlfriend's, spoke to him.

_You know she's teething. You don't know shite about that. Hermione has all those baby books just sitting there…_

Draco shot a glance at the shelf in question. The entire length of it was filled with wizarding titles such as _Magical Motherhood_ and _Never-Dirtying Nappies: Ninety-Nine Useful Charms for New Parents_; Muggle titles like _What to Expect the First Year_ and _Surviving Your Baby's First Year _were there as well. Hermione had certainly amassed quite the collection.

Sighing, he allowed thoughts of relaxation to fade from his mind for the moment. Even though it pained him, he walked toward the shelf and scanned the spines carefully. It struck him as odd that the books that stood out the most were all Muggle. They seemed to be the most well-organized and accessible. As he flipped through them, Draco was pleasantly surprised to see they had whole chapters dedicated just to fatherhood. Perhaps he could look through those later.

Now, he had a mission.

Draco opened _What to Expect in the First Year_ and flipped to the section on teething. Grabbing his tumbler of Firewhisky, he settled back into the kitchen chair, propping his feet up on the table with the book balanced in his lap. He sighed and began to read. This might not have been the ideal Friday night, but he had some quiet and some alcohol, so he supposed it could have been worse.

Nearly four pages in, the introduction had finally given way to useful information. The author had begun to list symptoms of teething. Drooling, irritability… _yes, that sounded right_. Draco had just begun to consider taking notes when whimpers, shortly followed by cries, began pouring from the nursery. He groaned. How long had she been asleep?

Swinging his legs back to the ground, Draco set his glass and the book onto the table before plodding back to the nursery. Shiloh was lying in her cot in the near-darkness, the soft yellow glow of the owl-shaped lamp illuminating just enough for Draco to make out her tiny form. She was squirming, and judging by the sounds she was making, her face was likely screwed up.

He was caught between empathy and resignation.

"Pixie, why are you crying?" he cooed, scooping her gently from her resting place. "Does your mouth hurt?"

Though his touch usually soothed her, tonight, that didn't seem to be the case. From the moment Draco enveloped her in his arms, her soft cries turned to screams.

"Shit," he mumbled, rocking her in what he hoped was a soothing motion. She had never woken up like this before. Frequently, yes. But _this_ upset? A mass of worry grew in his stomach. What if something was wrong? _Actually_ wrong? The mass grew heavier, spreading into his limbs, making them heavy and sluggish.

Going through his mental checklist for the second time tonight, Draco first checked her nappy. Nothing there. Next, he offered her some soupy, white rice cereal that Hermione had mixed with some of her breast milk.

Shiloh determinedly turned her head away from the spoon he offered her, her mouth clamped shut.

That wasn't it either.

Sighing, Draco began to rock some more. He paced back and forth, much as he had before.

He tried his hand at a lullaby, albeit a made-up one. He couldn't quite recall the words or melody to Able-Vice at the moment.

Nothing helped. Nothing he did seemed to soothe her in the slightest. Instead, Shiloh continued to howl into the night, her tiny red mouth stretched wide open to reveal those two little ridges on her bottom gums.

After nearly another hour of this misery, Draco happened to glance at the clock. It was nearing midnight and there seemed to be no end in sight to his daughter's tears. He sighed. Why had Hermione picked _this _night of all nights to go away? A slight bitterness grew in the back of his throat, but he pushed it down.

Brushing his fingers against his daughter's forehead, he felt strong heat radiating from her skin. He frowned. Was she supposed to develop a fever from teething? He hadn't gotten that far in the book. Though it was lying open on the table, there was no way he was going to be able to adjust Shiloh enough to flip through all those pages.

Feeling her forehead again, there was no denying that her skin was hot to the touch.

"Right," he said aloud, as though trying to convince himself that he knew what to do. "Right, pixie. Let's get you a nice cool bath. That'll help, right?"

Draco made his way over to the bathroom, rocking his daughter in tired arms the entire way. Her little baby bath was already lying on the floor of the tub. He set her inside and turned on the tap. Cold water rushed over his fingers, and he adjusted the temperature until it was satisfactorily cool before bringing Shiloh closer.

This had to help…. It had to…

From the second the cool water touched her skin, Shiloh's screams doubled in volume, echoing around the bathroom. The noise startled Draco, and he felt panic flare in his chest. Quickly, he withdrew his daughter from the tub and into his arms. Her tiny body squirmed against his chest, still fevered and burning in his hands.

He needed to do something, and do it fast.

He had to talk to someone.

Thoughts swirling in his head, his mind first flew to Madam Pomfrey. A mediwitch would certainly be his first choice.

Yes, that would be ideal. Draco had barely stood from his kneeling position before a new thought squashed that idea.

Taking Shiloh to the Hospital Wing would require him to carry her all the way through the castle. Her cries would surely wake everyone, and he didn't need to draw attention to himself—to his family.

He had to think of something else. Snagging a towel from the linen closet, he wrapped Shiloh in it as her cries muffled against his shirt. Each strangled note broke his heart just a little more. There had to be some sort of solution… someone he could turn to.

In an effort to kickstart his brain, Draco returned to the kitchen and to pacing. Back and forth he walked, sure that his shoes would end up wearing a dip in the floor. That was when he saw it: a letter sitting on the end of the counter. Isolated. Unopened. Untouched.

On the front, three small words written in elegant, loopy script: _To my son._

His mother had written to him a handful of times through the course of this month after her initial attempt at contact. He had managed to read the first few letters, but when he found he didn't know how to respond, he stopped opening them. Draco wasn't sure how to forgive his mother, wasn't sure if he wanted to.

So the latest letter remained on the edge of the counter, discarded.

Draco eyed the thing with a weary expression. What could Narcissa Malfoy possibly know about raising babies? He had practically been raised by house elves.

Despite his anger, he couldn't help the tug in his heart when he thought of his mother, all alone in Malfoy Manor for months on end, trapped in the place that had been a living hell. Sympathy wasn't quite the word he was looking for. It was something closer to pining—longing.

There were other mother figures he could see, of course. Molly, for one. But the sudden need for _his own_ mother overwhelmed him, much as it was likely overwhelming Shiloh at the same time. She was the one they needed to see.

His mind set, Draco summoned Shiloh's nappy bag from the nursery and hurtled out the door to the common room, where only a couple students remained. A few looked up, wide-eyed when beelined toward the fireplace. MacMillan sighed and shut the book he was reading, clearly annoyed by the sudden inundation of sound.

"Is everything all right?" Hannah Abbott asked, eyeing the wailing, towel-clad bundle in his arms.

Politeness being the exact last thing on his mind, Draco grunted in her direction. He then grabbed the floo powder and threw it into the grate before covering Shiloh's mouth and nose. "Malfoy Manor," he whispered.

In a whirl of ash and emerald fire, they were off, spinning past fireplace after fireplace until they landed haphazardly in the one place he had hoped to forget.

The drawing room.

* * *

**I wanted to take the time to write to you all here. Before this story continues, I want to make something very clear:**

**As you can probably see by this point, this is not a sunshine-and-rainbows fluffy story. This is a depiction of two teenagers trying to go to school, raise a baby, and deal with a new relationship all at the same time. There are going to be tough times. I can promise a HEA, but it might hurt to get there.**

**Unfortunately, FFN does not have the tagging system that AO3 does. However, if and when there is a widely-known, potentially triggering event in a story, I promise to put it in the notes. So PLEASE read the author notes. I repeat: PLEASE READ THE AUTHOR NOTES. If you need to PM me to ask specific questions, I'll be happy to have a chat. You can always reach out on Tumblr if you want to.**

**Thank you as always for being wonderful readers.**

**Next chapter: The Return to Malfoy Manor.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Welcome to Malfoy Manor...**

**Thanks as always to GracefulLioness and MsMerlin**

**See note at the end.**

* * *

The drawing room at Malfoy Manor had served many purposes in Draco's childhood. It was where he'd learned proper pureblood manners from Mother. And it was where Father made him recite the attributes of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.

But it was also where he had seen so much pain. Where he had tortured people. Where he had seen Hermione writhing and screaming, holding on by a thread to protect their unborn daughter.

Draco took a few steps into that familiar, haunted space. For a brief, horrific moment, painful memories swirled around him, making the air thick and his breath catch in his throat. His hands began to shake.

Hermione. On the floor. Helpless. Screaming. _Bleeding. Dying._

And then, as if she wanted to help distract him from awful memories, Shiloh took the opportunity to vomit all down his front before beginning to wail harder than before.

It worked.

Draco snapped back to the present and rearranged Shiloh in order to vanish the sick. Before he could say the incantation, a light flicked on down the hall.

"Who's there?"

The high-pitched voice called out, echoing through the cavernous house.

Draco froze. He knew that voice by heart. _Mother._

He wanted to say something, to cry out—_It's me!_ _I'm back!_—but when he opened his mouth to speak, he couldn't even make a sound.

That's how Narcissa Malfoy found her son: standing in her darkened drawing room, mouth agape, fumbling for his wand, baby clutched to his chest, and covered in milky vomit.

It would have been humorous, save for how terrified his eyes must have been.

Draco watched as his mother brushed off any surprise she might have felt at his sudden arrival and glided over in their direction. Her elegant dressing gown billed around her slippered feet as she drew closer.

"What in Merlin's name are you doing here in the middle of the night?" Her concerned gaze traveled the length of his body.

Draco considered simply shrugging for one brief second. But then Shiloh gave a pathetic whimper in his arms, and the whole truth came spilling out.

"…and I just don't know what to do. She's too young to take a Fever Reducer potion, I know that much. I _know_ how to heal adults. I _know_ how to save people with limbs nearly torn off and cuts all the way across their torsos. I even knew how to save Hermione when she almost died delivering Shiloh. But for her, I just don't know what to do." His voice cracked as he spoke these last words. A tightness stretched across his jaw and his eyes stung with the threat of tears. "I'm her dad, dammit. But I just don't know what to do."

Narcissa stood unmoving in the entrance to the drawing room for a moment before waving her wand to bring up the lamps. Draco blinked to adjust to the light. His mother was wearing a dressing gown and looked more underdressed than he had seen her in his lifetime. She had never been one to wander about in her pyjamas.

What had changed?

The two of them stared at each other for several long moments. She seemed to be soaking him in as much as he was, her.

In an effort to keep the weight of his emotions at bay, Draco turned away from his mother. His eyes drifted to his surroundings—to the room that held some of his worst memories.

Mother had the good sense to redecorate.

Once a dark room with black walls and an ominous air, Narcissa had chosen a new palette for a new era. The walls were a soft, pale green, with accents of white and a delicate pink.

The whole place seemed… _different_. Mother seemed different, too. Lighter.

"Oh, my dragon," she cooed as she crossed the room. The Malfoy matriarch reached out as if to embrace him, but before she even touched his shoulder, she eyed the sick on his chest with a distinct eye of wariness. She waved her wand, vanishing the vomit.

Mother patted his back affectionately, and he leaned into the touch. It was nice. More than nice. He was _home. _For that small moment, Draco almost felt free of all his worries.

And then Mother reached for Shiloh. Draco drew back automatically, keeping her just out of Mother's reach.

A redecorated manor and a more soft-spoken nature did not negate all of the wrong this woman had done; the memories of his mother's distaste for supposedly impure witches and wizards had not faded in his mind. Though she had held Shiloh briefly at Lupin and Tonks' funeral, that had been months ago. He had changed a lot since then. Had she changed, too? Had she had time to reflect on his new family? What if she had decided that her granddaughter wasn't worth the grime under her shoe?

Now he wished he had read all her letters.

Narcissa pulled her hand back when he held Shiloh away from her, a brief flash of pain rippling through her eyes.

But his mother was nothing if not a gracious host, so the look didn't last.

"What can I do for you?" This was the mother he recognized. Direct. Measured. Distant.

"Do you have any ideas that will make her feel better?" Draco adjusted Shiloh so Narcissa could see her granddaughter's face at the least.

Narcissa winced slightly when Shiloh's cries increased with the movement, but did not back away. Instead, she steeled her expression.

"Teething, did you say?"

"Yes." Draco rubbed circles in Shiloh's back. "I tried to read up on it, but she started fussing before I could properly get any real information."

"I see. Well, if her experience is anything like yours, she likely has an infection. You were badly infected when you were first teething. Your crying nearly drove me mad. I hardly slept for days, but I was sick enough with worry, so even if you hadn't been crying, I likely wouldn't have slept a wink anyway."

Draco furrowed his brow. "I thought Tippy cared for me." He thought of the old family house elf who had died around the time he started nursery.

"Oh, she did." Narcissa placed a hand on his back. "She always took you during the day and especially during some of the nastier moments of babyhood." She led him toward a side wing of the manor.

Draco chuckled at his mother's frank words. "I can relate. Sometimes, I wish we had a house elf to take care of some of Shiloh's messier episodes. I'm certain think Hermione would rather kick me out than buy an elf."

His mother offered him a gentle smile back. "Well, regardless of Tippy, I liked to care for you at night. You were my long-awaited son. I wanted to care for you when I could. It was how I got to know what a beautiful boy you were—still are." She reached up and tucked a stray blond lock behind his ear, smiling wistfully in the moonlight.

"I want to do that. To take care of her properly. I want to do right by her." Draco looked down at the little girl in his arms. She had taken the fabric of his recently-cleaned shirt into her mouth and was sucking away on it, soaking the front with her drool.

Draco and Narcissa walked down a vast corridor that Draco only vaguely recognized. His mother had clearly gone to great lengths to make the entire Malfoy residence look like a new house. Where dour portraits of ancient Malfoy family members had once hung, there now stood beautiful works of Muggle art: oil paintings filled with trees and fields and frames upon frames of flowers. His childhood home had morphed into a bright and airy home in his father's absence.

It was… _nice. _Draco had never particularly cared for the dark and austere palette shared by Malfoys for generations.

Or perhaps he had simply outgrown it.

At the end of several more unrecognizable corridors, they reached their destination. The Malfoy family potions laboratory was a place he had been expressly forbidden from entering until he was old enough to not touch things impulsively. There, among the dusty cauldrons and vials, his mother lit a soft fire on the brewing table. She then cast several cleaning charms on a small cauldron and suspended it in mid-air above the flame.

"There is a fever-reducer potion that is safe for babies." She double-knotted her dressing gown and rolled up her sleeves. It was all Draco could do to stand there with his mouth agape.

This was the woman who had never worn less than the finest jewels—the woman who refused to wear a set of robes if it had the hint of a wrinkle in them. If Mother noticed his confusion, she didn't say anything.

"It exchanges more volatile ingredients for gentler ones. Let me show you how to brew it." Narcissa got to work, chopping, pouring, and stirring, explaining each step concisely. Still overwhelmed by the sudden change in his mother and by his daughter's problems, Draco wasn't sure he would remember all the directions. But when he pointed this out to his mother, she gestured to a parchment and quill that sat just out of his sight. The quill was scribbling away, copying every word his mother spoke using a transcription spell.

"Now we let it simmer for twenty minutes." She wiped her hands on a nearby cloth. "A simple potion, really."

When he was a child, they would have just sent an elf out to fetch most potions. In his mind, Narcissa Malfoy was a woman who sat in a high-backed chair, cup of tea in hand, gossiping and negotiating her way to the top of society. She was not someone who stirred cauldrons or hung around in kitchens doing household spells; she was not a Weasley wife.

But she was his mother, and in his hour of need, she had come through.

"Thank you, Mother." He offered her a small smile, continuing to rock his daughter back and forth. Bringing a hand up to her forehead, his heart sank. "She's still hot." Draco looked up at his mother for what he hoped would be guidance.

"The Fever Reducer will do the trick. In the meantime, let's get something for those teeth of hers." With a swift wave of her wand, a funny looking, colourful, doughnut-shaped item appeared in midair. Narcissa grabbed hold of it and handed it to him.

"What is it?" he asked, examining the thing. It wasn't soft to the touch, but it wasn't hard either. It was sort of… squishy?

"It's a teething ring." His mother tapped the ring with her wand again. Draco instantly felt his fingertips prickle with cold where he was pinching the thing. "I've put gentle freezing and stasis charms on it so that it will remain cold. The texture and temperature should soothe her aching gums."

Draco hesitated before bringing the object in the gap between his daughter and his chest, offering it up to her as an alternative to his now-soaked shirtfront. He gently pushed the teething ring against Shiloh's lips, and she readily accepted it, mashing her sore mouth against the object. Her whimpers subsided.

"Oh, thank Merlin," Draco sighed, fighting the urge to collapse. "Blessed silence."

His mother seemed to understand his need for quiet, because she did not press him to make conversation. The two simply waited for the potion to finish simmering before offering Shiloh a small dose.

Finally—_finally_—shortly after two in the morning, Shiloh Malfoy fell asleep against her father's chest, her temperature restored to normal.

"Stay here for the night," his mother whispered. "You look exhausted."

Though parts of him rejected the idea of spending one more second than he had to in Malfoy Manor, his mind felt foggy and the heaviness of his body overtook any sort of reasoning.

He nodded and the two of them started up the stairs. While the familiarity of the home's layout was comforting, the closer they drew to his old bedroom, the more his stomach began to ache. Would he be made to sleep in that room? The last time he had been in there, they'd been in the throes of war.

Just outside a very familiar door, he cleared his throat. Narcissa turned, her hand on the handle.

"Not there. Just… not there. Another bedroom, please," he whispered.

His mother swallowed, but obliged.

She led him away from his old bedroom and to a guest room down the hall. This wing of bedrooms had remained untouched during the war, for though Death Eaters had polluted the very core of this place, Lucius and Narcissa insisted that the living wing remain as private as possible.

His mother pushed the wooden door open to reveal a luxurious suite. It would more than do. Draco transfigured a settee into a cot and levitated it to his bedside. Then, for the first time in hours, he set his sleeping daughter down. She did not stir.

Narcissa lingered in the door frame for a moment. He could feel her eyes watching him as he pulled his shoes off and crawled into bed.

"Goodnight, Mother," he mumbled into his pillow before drifting into blissful oblivion.

When Draco floated back into awareness, the darkness of night had been replaced by sunlight filtering through his eyelids. He inhaled through his nose. The air woke his brain up a bit more, and he opened his eyes.

A blurry bedroom swam into his vision. Under him, white sheets reflected the light that was shining in through the window. Sitting up, he felt the fuzziness in his head fizzle out.

"What time is it?" he wondered aloud to himself. Draco groped for his wand and cast a muttered, "_Tempus."_

Three twenty-four p.m.

Draco sat bolt upright. It was afternoon already? How had he slept so long? Adrenaline coursed through his system as he threw off the covers and made to grab his daughter from the transfigured cot.

Except she wasn't there.

Adrenaline turned to panic as he whipped his head around, now fully awake. She was nowhere to be seen.

Immediately, the worst thoughts began to pour into Draco's head. Had she been taken? Kidnapped? Was someone going to blackmail him for her? What if she was dead? The very core of his fears came to light as he began to search around the bedroom.

Just as he began to reach the point of hysteria, he heard a familiar coo from the adjoining sitting room in this guest suite. His heart raced as he tore across the room. Through the doorway, he saw her at once. His little girl sat in the arms of his mother, her mouth turned up in a sweet smile. The two were nestled into the corner of a plush-looking sofa. Just as quickly as he had burst into the little sitting room, he came to a dead stop.

"M-Mother?" he sputtered, taking in the scene playing out before him. "How—Why—?" As Draco struggled to form words, his sleep-addled brain struggled to catch up to the sight before him. What was his mother doing with Shiloh? Hadn't he… hadn't he implied that he didn't want her holding the baby?

But looking at the two of them now, the worries that his mother would somehow reject Shiloh evaporated within seconds.

Shiloh was cuddled into his mother, and the expression on Narcissa's face said everything: she was in love. The infant had clearly stolen her heart.

"Good morning, my dragon," his mother said in an odd, sing-songy voice that he had never heard before. "Did you sleep well?"

He furrowed his brow. "I did. When did you get the baby?"

"Oh, hours ago. She woke around eight. I happened to be nearby and fetched her before you stirred."

Draco frowned. "Has she eaten?"

"I found bottles under a stasis charm in your nappy bag. I hope you don't mind that I used them."

"Erm, yes. That's fine."

As if in a daze, he walked forward and sat in an armchair across from his mother. Even after his daughter had arrived in the world, he never could have imagined the picture in front of him now: His daughter, staring up in wonder at his mother.

"She seems much better today," Draco commented after a bit.

"Oh, yes. I gave her a half dose of fever reducer this morning. Before you go, I'll bottle you some more just in case."

"Thank you."

There was another pause in their conversation. Draco opened and closed his mouth multiple times, struggling to find something to say. The version of his mother he saw before him now was nothing like the woman he had grown up with. That woman had been distant and cool with him; any affection she had shown had always been measured. Seeing her now… she was a different person. Her eyes were soft as she looked down at Shiloh, fingers stroking her little cheek with such care it nearly broke his heart.

"So, erm… how did you know about the infant fever reducer potion? It seemed like you had brewed one before." Draco twisted his hands in his lap as he spoke. Why did speaking to his mother feel so awkward now?

"I brewed them often when you were very young."

"Really?" Draco raised his eyebrows, leaning back into the chair. "I would have thought that to be a house elf's job—to go to an apothecary for that sort of thing."

Narcissa smiled gently. "Your father would have preferred that, I think. I've always had a penchant for potions and didn't trust someone else to brew something so delicate. I don't know if I ever told you, but before I married your father, I had thoughts of becoming a healer."

"Did you?" Draco watched as his mother rearranged Shiloh so they were in a more comfortable position. A spark of curiosity grew in his own mind.

Narcissa continued. "Oh, yes. I had plans to train at St. Mungo's after graduation. But being a daughter of the Black family, my parents had other ideas. About two months into my seventh year, they sent me an owl announcing my engagement to your father."

A brief melancholy flashed in her eyes, but she blinked it away. "Neither Lucius nor my parents approved of my desire to have a career, so I let the dream die. However, I insisted on setting up this lab in our house. When you were born, I used to make all sorts of potions that would stimulate your growth and heal you when you were sick. I even experimented a bit with child-safe potions. Your father would never have let me sell them, though. So they've just been kept quiet all these years."

Draco let the words sink in. There was apparently so much about his mother that he didn't know. She had wanted to be a healer? Perhaps they were more alike than he thought.

"In what ways did you discover that pediatric healing is different from regular healing?" he asked, leaning forward.

Narcissa offered a smile as Shiloh shoved the opal pendant on her necklace into her mouth. "Gentler wand movements for some spells. More precise movements for others. Potions tend to utilize ingredient substitutions that will be gentler on the immune system. For example, one can use certain poisonous plants to create antidotes, but for a young child, the presence of those plants will do more harm than good. In those situations, I find it's easier to find alternatives that will prevent any sort of reaction."

Draco nodded along. It made sense. His mother was a smart witch. Not too unlike Hermione. She, too, was passionate.

"You know… I've thought about healing." Draco crossed his legs and grinned at Shiloh's enthusiasm with gnawing on the pendant. "I learned a lot from Molly Weasley last year and then again during Hermione's pregnancy." He paused and his smile fell a bit. "It felt good to help others instead of hurting them."

Draco had never said these last words aloud. He hadn't even thought about them, really. But they seemed to be the natural conclusion of his experiences during the war.

"I can understand that," his mother admitted. "I am truly sorry that your time in this house and this family led you to hurt others. That was never my intention. I never wanted that for you."

"I know," Draco whispered. "I know you tried."

Another silence lapsed between them.

"Do you regret it? Not being able to become a healer?"

Narcissa's lips twitched upward, though her eyes remained solemn. "In some ways, I suppose I do. I did the best I could, given the circumstances. Your father and I did not donate to St. Mungo's regularly for simply for outward appearances. You could say that it was a way of continuing my ambition."

Draco paused for a minute, considering his next words carefully. "Would you… would you be willing to teach me what you know about pediatric healing? I don't want to feel helpless again, even for something as simple as teething."

This time, when Narcissa smiled, it radiated through her whole face.

"Nothing would bring me more joy, my dragon."

As quickly as the joy flashed on his mother's face, it faded, giving way to something gentler. Narcissa turned back to the baby. "She's a lovely little child, isn't she? Pretty. Clever eyes."

Draco swallowed. He felt an odd sort of lump in the back of his throat.

"I—We—Hermione and I… We think so, too."

"You should be very proud."

"We are."

Narcissa smiled down at Shiloh with a warm smile on her face. "I'd like to be a part of her life if you'd let me," she whispered. "I want to be a good grandmother. To do for her what I couldn't do for you."

Draco felt the burden of his mother's words weigh on his heart. Even if her methods or ideas about childrearing hadn't been spot on, her actions as a parent had always been driven by her love for him. He could see that now, given a little distance.

"I think I'd like that," he replied quietly.

For a time, the only sounds that reached their ears were the tick of a clock and the occasional coo from Shiloh. In the near silence, the weight of all that was unsaid hung over them. Narcissa had never been one for being effusive or emotional, so Draco had learned to understand in what was left unspoken.

In this moment, what was left unspoken spoke volumes.

Over the last year, Draco had grown accustomed to Mrs. Weasley's overflowing and direct way of showing love. At first, it had seemed like such a stark contrast to the affection, or lack thereof, that he had been shown as a child.

Looking at Mother now, it was clear that she was still never going to be like Mrs. Weasley. She would never crush him against her chest and gush in details about how much she loved him.

But looking at the expression on her face, Draco felt love pouring from his mother at nearly the same intensity.

It was a subtle way of showing love to be sure, but solid and real enough that there was no doubt in his mind about how his mother felt about him and Shiloh.

For that, Draco felt entirely grateful.

The clock that had been ticking dinged four times, the sound reverberating around the austere room. With a jolt, Draco sat upright.

"Is everything all right?" His mother tilted her head.

"Oh, erm, yes. It is. I just—Hermione's scheduled to be home by dinnertime and I want to make sure I'm back before she arrives."

His mother offered a wistful smile.

"You really have made a new life for yourself, haven't you? Your home is with that girl now. With Miss Granger." Narcissa paused for a moment, glancing downward at the wiggling baby, before extending her granddaughter out toward him. "Both your girls, I suppose."

Draco accepted his daughter back into his arms and gave her a cuddle. It was quite a relief to hold a happy, relaxed baby instead of a fussy, upset one. Narcissa stood after she had handed Shiloh over, smoothing her robes. Almost immediately, her usual façade returned.

"You can Floo back from the drawing room whenever you are ready."

Draco shifted Shiloh into his left arm and picked up his wand with his right; the nappy bag zoomed into his hand and he slung it over his shoulder. His mother was right. He was going to his true home.

When Draco and Shiloh arrived back in the eighth year common room late Sunday afternoon, it was crowded with students who had clearly spent their weekend lazing about. Familiar faces greeted him as he uncovered his daughter's nose and mouth and dusted her off. A few even commented that Shiloh seemed much better.

He was caught off-guard by their concern for her. Though in years past he might have sniffed at the thought of making conversation with some of these peers, he suddenly found that he had no issue responding in kind.

"She's doing better, thank you."

"Yes, it was teething. I apologize in advance if she continues to fuss, but unfortunately it can't be helped."

They weren't exactly the warmest of words, but they were likely the kindest he had said to this particular crowd.

One of the Patil twins was beginning to relay a story of when her cousin was teething when the Floo roared to life for the second time in a matter of minutes. Hermione emerged, visibly more relaxed than she had been in weeks. Her shoulders, normally hunched and tense, were pushed back; the usual worry lines that graced her forehead had disappeared entirely. It seemed that a weekend with her two best friends had done her some good.

Hermione's eyes met his, and a wide smile spread across her lips. She immediately scurried across the room and scooped Shiloh into her arms, showering their daughter with kisses. When Shiloh's face was sufficiently peppered, she then turned to Draco. In that moment, any sort of barrier that had been building between them was entirely absent. Hermione leaned in without hesitation and firmly pressed her lips to his.

He felt a rush of affection surge through his body and deepened the kiss.

From somewhere across the common room, someone wolf whistled.

When the two of them broke apart, Draco glanced down to see that Shiloh had begun to frown, her bottom lip turned in an adorable pout. Any other time he might have found the way her bottom lip stuck out adorable, but he knew her teeth were likely bothering her and she was seconds away from screaming.

Quick as a snitch, he summoned one of the teething rings Mother had given him and offered it to his daughter.

The little girl began to gum it with enthusiasm.

Hermione gave the little object a confused look as Draco launched into the saga of Shiloh's first teething experience. When he finished, Hermione, herself looked a little pouty; Draco had to hold back his amusement—mother and daughter looked nearly identical.

"You should have Flooed me! I would have come home to help," she insisted. Draco noticed the worry lines returning to her forehead.

"That's exactly what I didn't reach out." He adjusted his grip on Shiloh. "You needed to get away for a bit. Things turned out just fine. Besides, I was finally able to properly reconnect with Mother. She approves of you—of us, it seems."

Hermione's eyebrows practically disappeared into her bushy hair. "Are you serious?"

"Completely."

As students began to trickle down to the Great Hall for dinner, Draco grabbed Hermione's overnight bag and the couple walked up the common room steps to drop it off.

"How was your time with your friends?"

Hermione smiled. "Lovely, actually. It seems that Auror training is just what they needed. I've never seen Harry so in his element. And Ron? Well, he's happier there than if he would have come back to school."

"Is he still sleeping with every girl that bats her eyes at him?" Draco joked, waving his wand to unlock their door.

"Well, I didn't ask considering it's not exactly any of my—"

Hermione didn't finish her sentence. The words died on her tongue as the two of them stepped through the threshold of their little flat.

Ransacked.

Every drawer was open, their contents scattered across the floor. Books spilled from the shelves. Their little table upended.

Hermione's free hand flew to her mouth.

Draco's eyes traveled past the chaos in front of them to a torn piece of parchment, tacked haphazardly onto a kitchen cabinet. He strode forward, past the mess, and ripped the parchment from its hangings.

_I SEE YOU AND YOUR ABOMINATION RETURNED TO YOUR FILTHY HIDEAWAY._

_STAY AWAY. _

_WE DON'T NEED DEATH EATERS AND THEIR SPAWN SULLYING THIS SCHOOL. _

_GET OUT. _

The devils were inside the walls after all—here at Hogwarts.

Standing in his home, girlfriend and daughter beside him, Draco felt the vulnerability creep upward until his whole body shook with fear and anger.

He was going to find out who did this. He had to, no matter the cost.

* * *

**Enter Narcissa Malfoy! **

**These two have a lot to overcome, but Narcissa is on their side. **

**First of all, I want to say _thank you _for the positive response to my note on the last chapter. I appreciate that most of you were receptive to the places where I'm taking Draco and Hermione on this journey. They have a long way to go, and I'm grateful that you trust me to take them there. **

**Also, stay tuned for a BRAND NEW WIP coming soon! I cannot WAIT to share it with all of you. Keep your eyes peeled on this platform (follow me to get notified when it's published) and on tumblr (biscuitsforpotter) for teaser passages and aesthetics! **

**Take care, everyone. Sending love and light to each and every one of you. xoxo Biscuits**


	9. Chapter 9

**Remember how I said that this story wasn't all sunshine and rainbows?**

**Major thanks to MsMerlin and Graceful Lioness!**

* * *

Hermione couldn't remember the last time she'd gotten a proper night's sleep, let alone felt well-rested. Sure, she might cat nap for an hour or two here and there, but it rarely happened in her bed. Between late nights with Shiloh and school work, she had hardly slept a wink in the past two weeks.

As Shiloh's ear-splitting cries dragged her from brief, unconscious bliss, an expletive spilled from her tongue with a groan. The little girl had only napped once today, and that had been in Hermione's arms this afternoon as she hurried between Transfiguration and Herbology. She had been hoping to take a nap of her own during that break—to have a silent, dark hour to herself underneath her blankets while someone—_anyone_—watched the baby.

Shiloh clearly had other plans. She refused to be held by anyone but her own parents these days, and would scream like a banshee if she was laid down in her cot while awake. Thus, what Hermione had hoped could be a brief reprieve turned into yet another period of stress with a baby who refused to calm herself.

When the torturous hour finally ended and Draco arrived back from class to take over baby duty she was more than a little relieved. Shiloh's eyelids were just starting to droop, her wails turning into soft whimpers as she drank from Hermione's breast, and while she was grateful their little girl would finally get some rest, Hermione couldn't deny the twinge of annoyance that bubbled within.

Of course she would sleep for him, after she'd spent an hour wailing and flailing, ruining any chance Hermione might have had at actual rest.

Now, hours later, she fumbled for her wand and cast a sleepy "_Tempus,"_ in the air, the numbers appeared, revealing the time.

Two forty-six a.m.

It just wasn't fair.

Hermione rolled out of bed and rubbed her eyes. Draco lay asleep, dead to the world. Hermione had taken it upon herself to cast _Muffliato_ around his half of the bed after he fell asleep so he could get sleep. In the wake of the break-in a few weeks back, Draco began whimpering in his sleep and waking in a cold sweat. Though he dismissed her worries at first, he eventually admitted that ever since the break-in, he'd been having nightmares.

"I keep seeing you and Shiloh being attacked," he confessed after Hermione summoned a large glass of water for him to gulp down. "I'm afraid to fall asleep."

Seeing Draco broken like that, Hermione wanted to swoop in and help him like she had last summer. He'd been broken then, too.

So she pushed her own exhaustion aside and promised to take care of Shiloh at night.

"That way you only have to focus on falling asleep once."

Draco accepted her suggestion readily, and they reached a new agreement: Hermione would take nights with the baby to the best of her ability, and Draco would handle the daytime, except when he was in class.

As she tiptoed toward the nursery, she couldn't help the envy that curled around her middle and squeezed when she looked back at Draco, peaceful in his slumber.

Shiloh, on the other hand, was the picture of misery. A red face, bogeys running down her chin, and crinkled eyes met Hermione when she entered the baby's room. Hermione groaned. What she wouldn't give for even five hours of uninterrupted sleep—frankly, at this point, she would even take three hours. As she reached the cot and picked the infant up and cradled her to her chest, a horrid bitterness crept up in her throat.

No other girls from her year had to deal with something like this.

Other girls her age lost sleep over boys, or perhaps grades.

But not her. Not the _brightest-witch-of-her-age, _Hermione Granger.

No, she was changing nappies, rocking, feeding, and wiping away tears and spit-up.

It wasn't exactly how she had pictured her final year at Hogwarts. When she was younger, she had always imagined this year to be the pinnacle of her academic career. She had pictured academic success and praise from her professors; she had pictured colour-coded study schedules and dates with Ron at Hogsmeade.

She hadn't envisioned this. Not even close.

After checking Shiloh's nappy, Hermione settled into the rocking chair she had conjured from an old school desk and lowered the neckline of her nightgown. The baby latched almost immediately, her whimpers subsiding.

It was a blessed silence. Hermione leaned her head back against the chair and closed her eyes. To say that she was tired, or even _exhausted_ was an understatement. She wanted nothing more than to sleep. She thought of all the others in this dormitory, including her boyfriend, fast asleep, most of them without a care in the world.

What she wouldn't give to trade places with them, if only for a night.

This was never a thought she would admit out loud. She knew it wasn't right. Hermione prided herself in her composure and ability to push through stressful situations, but this… _this_ was different.

Motherhood was never-ending and overwhelming.

Hermione rocked Shiloh back and forth as she sucked away at her breast. She felt her daughter's tears and bogeys soak into her pyjamas and sighed. Now that Shiloh was up, sleep would likely elude Hermione the rest of the night. Unlike Draco, she didn't get nightmares. Her problem was stress-induced insomnia. Once she was up, she was up for good.

Still, her lack of sleep had some uses. Using her free hand, Hermione waved her wand and illuminated the lamps beside the cot before summoning her Arithmancy textbook from her school bag. If she was going to be awake half the night, she might as well make use of her time.

If anyone were to walk in at this exact moment, Hermione supposed she must have looked ridiculous: bags under her eyes, a baby attached to her breast, and a giant book on her lap. The sheer vulnerability of this moment was enough to make mortification creep through her body. She shouldn't feel this way, and she knew that. Meeting the needs of her daughter was necessary and studying while doing it was commendable, admirable—_incredible_ to some, even.

But this was just her life now. In some ways it was extraordinary. She had survived a war, fallen in love, and had a beautiful baby all at the same time. In other ways, this was all exceptionally mundane.

Around her the silence of the witching hour pulsed in comfortable familiarity. Even more so than when she had lived in the tent, she had grown close to these late hours. Days seemed so hazy in comparison to this time spent with her daughter in the middle of the night. This felt far more real than anything she did in daylight.

Still, it wouldn't hurt anyone if Shiloh would just sleep so her life could feel a little more normal.

"Come on, little girl. Let's get you back to sleep. Please." Hermione whispered as the baby stared up at her with her curious, grey eyes.

Hermione groaned. It was going to be another long night.

Hermione lumbered up the stairs to the Charms corridor with a cup of stasis-warmed coffee in her shaky hand. She would never admit it, but it had been a great relief to hand Shiloh off to Draco after breakfast. Even if her reprieve came in the form of schoolwork instead of much-needed sleep, she would take a break any way it came to her.

Late-Autumn sunshine filtered through the large windows that lined the Charms classroom, warming the air where it fell. Hermione sat in a sunny spot and closed her eyes, letting the light wash over her. Perhaps a bit of Vitamin D would do her some good.

"I'm excited to learn more about the Fidelius Charm today like Flitwick promised." A voice spoke as someone settled into the desk to her right. Hermione opened one eye to see Ernie MacMillan looking far too bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for a class this early. "Think this one'll be easy for the brightest witch—?"

"Oh, shut it. It's far too early in the morning for your prattling."

Ernie drew back for a moment, hurt in his eyes. Hermione sighed.

"Sorry. Look, I just… I haven't been sleeping much recently. You know—baby."

Frowning, Ernie nodded. "I suppose. Blimey, Hermione. You look exhausted."

She deadpanned, her jaw twitching slightly.

"I mean… I just mean you could use a break. Be a normal student like before. That is… you still answer all the questions, but it feels like you're about to break sometimes."

Hermione sighed and leaned on her elbow as Professor Flitwick entered the room, shuffling papers in his arms.

"You've got that part right, Ernie. Right on the nose."

"Does Malfoy even help you? You always look exhausted and he just looks like someone spit in his porridge."

Knitting her eyebrows together, Hermione narrowed her gaze on him. "Of course he helps. He's Shiloh's father. Where do you think she is right now?"

Ernie shrugged. "Look. I can only tell you what I see. And that's your sprog with all of your friends. Not him."

She couldn't pinpoint what it was exactly that made her do what she did next. Perhaps it was Ernie's stupid smug face. Perhaps it was his arrogant, misguided, horrible words. Or perhaps it was the build-up of sleep deprivation. Either way, something in that moment made her jump to her feet and slam her book shut so hard that the snap made everyone turn to face her.

Hermione didn't care that everyone was staring at her. She only cared that Ernie sat, eyes wide and mouth agape, as though she had startled him into stupefication.

Tossing her bag over her shoulder, she stomped over to a desk on the opposite side of the classroom and claimed a seat beside Padma Patil and Theo Nott.

As the air in the room detoxified, the professor cleared his throat. Hermione did her best to clear the fog that had clouded her mind as she settled into her new seat. She leaned forward, her quill poised just above her parchment for note taking. As promised, today's lecture concerned the principles and properties of the Fidelius Charm. It was a subject Hermione had thoroughly researched last year in _Magical Protections and Wards_ as well as _Secrets Well Kept: The Triumph and Failings of the Fidelius Charm_. She considered herself relatively well-versed, though of course, she was curious about Flitwick's take on the loopholes for secret keepers. Perhaps she could ask a question near the end of class.

As her quill scratched the parchment with notes, Hermione's eyes focused downward. It was nice to put her mind in a different space for a little while—a space where she knew she excelled. Academics were her comfort zone. The smell of the crisp parchment and the fresh ink relaxed her frayed nerves, and slowly, over the course of the next few minutes as Professor Flitwick lectured, she fell into a familiar rhythm. One that she loved.

Twenty minutes into class, though, Flitwick hadn't said anything she didn't already know and had hardly called on anyone to answer questions. Pulling her quill from the parchment, her mind drifted where it so often settled these days: Shiloh's inability to sleep.

Three days ago, after a fortnight of sleeping poorly, she had arranged for an appointment with a pediatric healer. When they had come to the Hospital Wing and greeted Madam Pomfrey, Hermione had been nearly at wit's end, desperate for just an hour or two of sleep.

However, when they walked past the bed in the corner where she had given birth to Shiloh, she was filled with a renewed fortitude. The memories of that harrowing day in the forefront of her mind, Hermione's steps grew more confident as she walked toward the pediatric healer.

After a thorough examination, the healer concluded that Shiloh was simply going through a sleep regression, and that there wasn't much to be done about it. At least medically.

It had been disheartening news, though not surprising.

What felt more disheartening, though, had been Draco's reaction.

Despite his insistence that he still wanted to be a healer, and despite the fact that he had been a wonderful father since Shiloh's birth, something about him had been off recently. Ever since the threats had begun, it was as though something inside her boyfriend had snapped, and the boy she loved was slowly fading and being replaced by someone else. Like a wounded animal. _Dangerous. _

He spent most of his time brooding these days. The frown on his face echoed back to the haunted look he had worn for much of their sixth year. It sent shots of worry through her chest each time she walked in on him muttering to himself or running his hands through his hair as a nervous tic.

At Shiloh's appointment, though Draco had been there physically, he hadn't really _been there_. His mind was a million miles away, focused on some unknown, unspecified threat. When he should have been listening to advice from the pediatric healer about ways to soothe their daughter—should have been a supportive partner—he spent the whole time staring at his shoelaces, that same frown etched into his marble face.

It was embarrassing.

The courage given through that bed in the corner crumbled when she realized that Draco had not listened to a single word the healer said.

White hot anger had built inside Hermione as that realization washed over her. And though that fury had cooled slightly over the past three days, underneath her calm exterior, the fire still burned within her. Where was the Draco who had become such a good, caring father? Where was the Draco who was an attentive partner? Was he so consumed with his hunt for their tormenter that he was regressing?

"Miss Granger!"

Hermione snapped out of her worrying thoughts, the Charms classroom coming back into focus. Several pairs of eyes stared at her. She felt them, heavy and judgmental, prickling all over her skin. The pounding in her chest stretched to her ears, and she was sure they were bright red beneath her curly hair.

"Yes, Professor?" Hermione sat up and spoke with as much dignity as she could muster.

"I was asking you what would happen, should a secondary Secret-Keeper divulge pertinent information, separate from the original Secret-Keeper?" Professor Flitwick raised his eyebrows upon finishing his question, inviting her to answer.

"Yes, well, erm—" Hermione cleared her throat. "—Nothing would happen, sir."

Hermione thought she saw a flash of relief in her professor's eyes. "Excellent, Miss Granger. Can you elaborate?"

Hermione felt herself fall back into her comfort zone as words flowed from her mouth with ease. This was information she had absorbed months ago. For her thoroughness, Professor Flitwick awarded her five points before continuing on with his lecture.

Leaning back into her chair, she felt a layer of tension leave her body.

Her relief was short-lived. Within moments, thoughts of Shiloh and Draco crept back into her mind.

_Why wasn't Shiloh's sleep regression getting better? _

_How could she stop Draco from drowning in his obsession with finding their tormentor? _

Hermione's heart clenched with anxiety as the lecture continued, and no amount of information about the Fidelius Charm was enough to relieve her. When the hour ended and students spilled into the corridor, she made her way up to the dormitory to relieve Draco so he could attend his late-morning potions class.

She found the father and daughter pair in the common room, sitting together on the plush sofa by the fire. With November cold seeping in through the stones, it seemed Draco had strategically chosen the spot that would warm them.

"How's she doing?" Hermione asked, letting her bag slide off her shoulder and onto the floor. The warmth from the fire reminded her exactly how tired she felt.

Draco shrugged. "Fine. She's been keeping herself amused." He gestured to her Quidditch-themed mobile, charmed to float above her head. Miniature Quaffles, Bludgers, and Snitches danced just out of her reach, and she giggled as she stretched her chubby little fingers out, trying to grab one.

"And you?" Hermione collapsed onto the sofa beside him.

"Research. Looking at ward-breach investigations." He held up the book that sat in his lap. _600 Years of Landmark Auror Cases_. "Thought there might be ideas here that can help me figure out who broke into our room."

Hermione bit her tongue to keep herself from speaking. If she said something now, she feared it would turn into a heated argument, and she didn't want to fight in front of the baby. Instead, she hummed in acknowledgement as he launched into a detailed description of an Auror case from 1874 in which a wizard had broken into an old woman's home and the Aurors were able to trace the wizard's magical signature. She made sure to nod along as he spoke animatedly, but in actuality, only one thought continuously passed through her mind.

What if Draco became so obsessed that he lost sight of what was right in front of him? What if Draco was so absorbed in his search that he didn't pay enough attention to Shiloh and she got hurt? She'd dealt with obsessed friends before. Harry had had more than his fair share of fixations over the years, and Hermione knew how narrow-minded they had made him. It made her worried for what would become of Draco.

Hermione watched as the mini bludger dipped dangerously close to Shiloh's face. Draco seemed not to notice, his excited eyes never wavering.

Sighing, she waved her wand at the mobile. The balls floated gently onto the sofa cushion, and Hermione stepped over her boyfriend to pick her daughter up.

"Don't you need to get to potions?" she asked abruptly, interrupting Draco's long-winded anecdote.

Draco blinked. She watched comprehension dawn in his eyes as he took in the sight of Shiloh in her arms. Lifting his wrist up, he checked his watch. "Oh, I suppose I should get going. Are you… going to be okay? You look tired."

Hermione pushed down the frustration that bubbled up inside her, though she couldn't help the tightness that crept up her jaw. She really wished people would stop saying that.

"I'm going to ask some of the seventh year Ravenclaw girls if they can watch Shiloh so I can go study. I feel so behind in everything."

Draco's face turned stony. "Are you sure that's such a good idea?"

"Me studying?"

"Don't be daft." Draco ran a hand through his hair as he picked up his school bag, tossing _600 Years of Landmark Auror Cases _inside. "You know what I mean. Should we really be leaving our daughter in the care of others at a time like this?"

Hermione felt venom rise in her throat. She was tempted to spit some of it out, but now was not the time. Draco had class and if she left now, she would be able to drop Shiloh off with the Ravenclaw seventh years and still have time for a full hour of studying before lunch. If she got into an argument now, her whole plan would fall to shambles.

Taking a deep breath, she forced her voice to remain steady. "I'm sure they won't do anything. Those girls love Shiloh and spoil her with attention."

"But they don't care for her like we do. We can't let her out of our sight or else—"

Hermione groaned and shifted Shiloh onto her opposite hip. "Fine! I'll take her to the library. But if she starts crying, you'll get to give Madam Pince the explanation. I suppose I _don't_ need an hour to myself."

Turning on her heel, she marched from the common room without saying another word. It wasn't until she plopped Shiloh down on her usual study table that she realized that there was no way she would be able to study the way she had hoped with an incredibly vocal baby at her side. Still, she had to try. Summoning a dummy from her bag, she prayed to whatever gods were listening that Shiloh would take it.

It seemed the gods were more inclined to laugh in her face.

Shiloh refused the dummy and grew fussy precisely six minutes after she cracked open her Arithmancy textbook. Her fatigue coupled with an agitated baby was a horrible combination for studying. Instead of catching up on her work like she hoped, the words on the page all seemed to blur together as she swayed gently back and forth, trying to settle Shiloh down. After several long minutes of this balancing act, Shiloh's whimpers gave way to full-blown cries and Madam Pince swooped down upon her.

"What do you think you're doing, Miss Granger?" the librarian hissed. "Get out! Bringing a baby in here—how preposterous!"

Hermione could practically feel the ancient woman breathing down her neck as she packed her bag in a hurry. Shiloh's cries only grew more desperate with every passing second.

"I'm trying. Please, Madam Pince!" Hermione whispered through tears of exhaustion. When the last book was tucked away, she ducked her head and made a beeline for the door. But as she turned the corner to make her way to the exit, she ran headfirst into something very solid.

"What—? Miss Granger!" The Scottish brogue sounded incredibly familiar. Looking up, she met the eyes of a very concerned Headmistress McGonagall. "What on earth is wrong?"

Before Hermione could answer, an incensed Madam Pince followed her around the bookshelf.

"Don't stand around here lollygagging! I asked you to get—_oh!_ Headmistress!" The librarian stopped dead in her tracks, and for a moment, the only sound that could be heard was Shiloh's wails.

"And what seems to be the problem, Irma?" McGonagall inquired, raising a single eyebrow. Hermione felt the whole room ripple in that single shift of her facial expression.

Madam Pince cleared her throat and straightened her spine. "Well, Miss Granger had the audacity to bring her infant to the library. Surely, she should understand by now that this is a place of learning." She turned away from the headmistress and toward Hermione. "After years of proper use of this place, I am sorely disappointed by your sudden and blatant disrespect for the Hogwarts library."

The librarian's words brought a fresh wave of misery to the surface, and she felt her eyes burning.

"Oh, Irma. Leave the poor girl alone. Can't you see she's distressed?"

"But Minerva—"

"As teachers, it is our duty to put our students first and right now it seems you are placing bits of parchment above a student who clearly needs your compassion." Professor McGonagall sniffed in Madam Pince's direction before turning to face Hermione. Her expression softened. "Come, Miss Granger. Let us find somewhere more welcoming for you and your child."

Hermione felt a protective arm wrap around her shoulders and guide her toward the door. Her feet moved automatically, and for the first time in weeks, she felt herself relax enough to lean onto another person. Her fatigue-addled brain was only vaguely aware of the path they walked from the library, out into the corridor, and up a series of staircases. The grip she kept on her daughter was the only thing keeping her grounded; the little girl's fist in her hair and a small puddle of drool on her shoulder reminded her that she still had to be present; she couldn't just give in and let shame and anxiety take over.

Only when she began to ascend a winding staircase did Hermione look up.

"Professor?"

McGonagall's mouth twitched in a half-smile. "Come along, Miss Granger. Let's get you inside. There's a good lass."

The headmistress ushered her inside and led her across the office to a staircase. Hermione thought she vaguely recognized it.

"I'll take the bairn if you promise me you will go and get some sleep. It looks as though you haven't had a wink in weeks."

Hermione shook her head. Her thoughts all seemed muffled as they bombarded her. She couldn't just unload her daughter on the headmistress, could she? Surely, the woman had better things to do with her time.

"But—"

"I won't take no for an answer. You need rest. Go on up and have a kip. I'll wake you in a while."

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but McGonagall cut her off again.

"I promise I will talk to you after you sleep, but you look as though an owl feather could knock you clean over." McGonagall placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, her normally sharp eyes sort and comforting instead.

Hermione nodded.

The headmistress reached forward and grasped Shiloh under the arms, lifting her against her own shoulder. Hermione handed over the nappy bag. She hardly had time to soak in the image of straight-laced McGonagall with a baby in her arms before the woman shooed her up the stairs and into the little chamber at the top.

By the time she reached the top of the steps and closed the door, she had tunnel vision. Nothing else about the room registered except the small, plain bed in the corner. It wasn't much, but in that moment, to Hermione, it was the fluffiest, softest bed in all of Hogwarts. She collapsed onto the mattress and pulled the thick blanket sitting at the foot up to her neck.

Within seconds, she knew no more.

When Hermione woke up, the sky outside had turned a soft lavender colour. The mind that had felt so muddled and overwhelmed—how long ago had that been?—was agile and ready once more. As she sat up and stretched, Hermione felt herself grow restless, her body itching to stretch and move about. Throwing off the covers, she padded across the stone floor and cracked the chamber door open.

The headmistress's office lay spread out before her. Professor McGonagall had rather straightforward, streamlined tastes. Whereas Harry had always described Dumbledore's office as being filled to the brim with gadgets of all sorts, McGongall kept her office rather bare and perfunctory. That was, except for a rather large tin of biscuits that Hermione spotted on her desk.

Hermione tiptoed across the office, and the only sounds that reached her ears were the crackle of the fire and the soft lull of the Scottish woman's voice. The headmistress sat in an armchair by the fire with Shiloh in her lap. The baby had stopped crying, and now draped herself across McGonagall's chest, sucking on a dummy and listening to the Headmistress read a story from Tales of Beedle the Bard.

"_Clang, clang, clang, went the brass-footed pot, and the wizard had not even started his porridge when there came another knock on the door. An_—Oh! Miss Granger, I see you've woken."

"I have. _The Wizard and the Hopping Pot_?"

"My personal childhood favorite," McGonagall explained, shutting the book in her lap gently.

Hermione nodded. "I see." A warmth filled her chest as she soaked in the sight before her. During her younger years at Hogwarts, she'd always thought of Minerva as a parental figure. A second mother, really. She'd been strict, yes, but that's exactly what Hermione had liked about her. Someone besides her needed to keep Harry and Ron in line. But beyond strictness, Minerva looked at her with a twinkle of affection in her eye that most other adults didn't. As though she'd liked her just the way she was.

Happiness bloomed within her to think that Shiloh might have another adult in her life who looked at her like that.

"Are you feeling refreshed?"

"Yes, I—well, _thank you_," Hermione smiled sheepishly, eyes drifting to the burgundy carpet as she collected her thoughts. She was thankful the Headmistress had been able to see how desperate she was in need of a good rest—even when she couldn't. "I desperately needed some sleep. I hope Shiloh wasn't too much trouble."

Minerva gave the baby a little pat on her back. "Not at all, Miss Granger. Once she settled down from her upset, she was quite well-behaved. I fed her with the bottles and containers you kept in her nappy bag. A very clever use of the Stasis Charm, if I say so myself."

Hermione smiled shyly, a small swell of pride building in her chest and held out her arms.

"May I ask how long I was asleep, Professor?" she asked after adjusting her grip on Shiloh.

"Nearly seven hours. It's just about six o'clock."

Hermione's eyes widened as she sucked in a quick breath. "Seven hours? Oh Merlin, Draco's definitely lost his mind with worry!"

If Draco had no idea where she had been for the past seven hours, he likely had begun to panic. Or perhaps even spiral. The mental image of a broken-down Draco screaming at everyone in their common room or harassing younger students in the corridor was enough to heart leap into her throat. The recent intruder had made all his worries much more intense. She was about to tear across the room when McGonagall spoke again.

"I wouldn't worry about that, Miss Granger. I sent word to Horace to inform him of your whereabouts. The professor confirmed that Mr. Malfoy received the message."

Hermione froze, her whole body stiff from emotional exertion. "I s-see."

The Headmistress pushed herself up from the armchair and looked down at her, concern deep in her eyes.

"Are you quite all right, Miss Granger?"

Hermione nodded.

"Are you sure? Because I have a feeling that your lack of sleep was not a one-off instance. Is Mr. Malfoy not waking up in the night with the bairn?"

Hermione sighed and shook her head. "He… he gets nightmares if his sleep is too interrupted. I started placing a silencing charm around him so Shiloh won't disturb him. I handle all nighttime care."

McGonagall frowned. "I see. And in the daytime?"

"That's a bit better," Hermione offered. "We switch off when we're in class, and when we are both busy, we find another student to care for her."

"Is that why you brought your child to the library? Was there no one to watch her?"

Hermione grimaced. "Not exactly."

McGonagall's frown grew deeper.

As much as she wanted to avoid exposing her entire personal life to others, the truth of her anxiety about Draco and his obsession came spilling out. How he was growing more paranoid by the day. How his hunt seemed to be overshadowing their daughter. How she was terrified that this threat would have a lasting impact on their little family.

The Headmistress listened as she spoke, not saying a word. When Hermione finished, she merely crossed her office and held out the tin of biscuits.

"Oh my dear," McGonagall clucked as Hermione chewed on the corner of the treat. "I had no idea the pressure you were facing. And, forgive me if this is a bit personal, but you really need to speak with Mr. Malfoy frankly. If the… erm… _relationship_ between you two is going to work out, you need to communicate clearly."

"I don't know if communication will work if all he thinks about is our family being attacked." Hermione hugged Shiloh close. "It's like he's retreated back to who he was in sixth year and I can't seem to reach him."

"Well you can assure him that the Headmistress is watching out for you. If you like, I can place a special surveillance ward on your rooms."

Feeling the knot in her stomach loosen a little at that prospect, Hermione agreed before insisting she head down to dinner.

The Great Hall was crowded with students, and Hermione slipped in as everyone was settling into their seats. She shot Draco an apologetic look from directly across the table as she swung her legs over the bench.

"Feeling better?" Draco whispered as he dished her up a helping of mashed potatoes. The tone in his voice sounded concerned, but not to a paranoid, nor panicked degree. The slight tilt of his head and his shining grey eyes brought a familiar swelling of comfort from within. _This_ was the Draco she had learned by heart—the Draco she _loved_.

She smiled, picking up her fork. "Much, thanks."

Hermione managed to get a few bites of potatoes in before Shiloh began to whine. Balancing the baby on her leg, she leaned over the bench to grab a stasis-charmed container of cereal.

"Do you need help?" the voice beside her asked.

Neville.

Hermione smiled at one of her oldest and dearest friends. He had settled into Eighth Year well, and rumours were flying that he was dating Hannah Abbott and it was serious. It seemed that his summer-long rebellious streak had ended entirely with her in the picture. She was glad for Neville. A sweet man like him deserved happiness.

"Oh, erm, yes. If you have a free hand. Could you open this cereal for me?"

Neville smiled and complied, plucking the container from her over-burdened fingers and prying the lid off.

When Hermione turned back around, she shot Draco a glance out of the corner of her eye. He was leaning on his elbow over his roast, the air of suspicion in his gaze as he watched the two Gryffindors interact.

"I can feed her if you like," Neville offered, summoning a miniature spoon from the nappy bag. "You've seemed so busy lately. You at least deserve to eat in peace."

Hermione chuckled. "That would be nice. Thanks, Neville."

She rotated Shiloh on her lap and was about to pass her over to Neville when Draco spoke up.

"You're not seriously going to let someone other than one of us feed her, are you?"

Hermione felt as though she had missed the last step on the Entrance Hall stairs. Her stomach dropped and her whole body went cold. Of all things to worry over, he was going to pick on this?

"It's _Neville!_" Hermione seethed at as she passed her daughter over to her friend.

"So?" Draco sneered. Hermione's stomach lurched at the all-too-familiar expression. She was fine with it when he used that look to defend her or Shiloh, but to have it thrown back in her face like they were children sent a horrible chill up her spine. He continued to speak, an undertone of fury in each syllable. "I don't know if you somehow forgot the sorts of things we've _both_ seen, but you might be wise to remember that even people we are fond of are capable of doing terrible things."

There was something about the way Draco spoke these words that struck a nerve deep within her.

She snapped.

"_You!"_ She pointed an accusatory finger at Draco, nostrils flaring, jaw tight. Her voice had gone dangerously quiet. "_Out. Now."_ She turned to her friend, her tone slightly softer. "Neville, just feed her."

Without another word, she jabbed her pointer finger in Draco's direction and then again in the direction of the exit.

All the colour drained from his face. _Good. _

Storming toward the Entrance Hall, Hermione kept her eyes focused forward. Heat crept up her chest and neck as she grew closer to her destination. Draco made a parallel journey on the other side of the long table. She could see the sweeping black of his school robes out of the corner of her eye. The movement only fueled her anger.

By the time she strode past the doors and into the Entrance Hall, she was fuming. A second later, Draco arrived. He opened his mouth to speak, but she only snarled for him to be quiet and follow her. The nearest empty classroom would do. They didn't need this conversation to be overheard. This argument had been simmering for weeks and had only just reached the boiling point.

When a suitable classroom came into view, she tugged Draco into it by the wrist and locked the door behind her.

"What the hell, Draco?" She rounded on him, her brow set, anger bubbling to the surface. "What's going on with you lately?"

Draco blanched. "What's going on with me? What's going on with—"

"No!" Hermione cut him off. "You don't get to control this conversation. _You_ are the one who is out of control. I mean, paranoid about Neville feeding her? _Neville?_"

Draco's nostrils flared. "He could be under the Imperius curse. We both know it."

"That's pure paranoia, Draco. There's no reason to believe Neville is under the Imperius curse."

"There's no reason not to either," he threw back.

Hermione felt tears burning in her eyes. He had to see reason. He just _had _to.

"Who _are_ _you_? I mean, I look at how you've been acting lately and I just don't recognize you. Not the _you_ I fell in love with, anyway. Do you know who you're reminding me of?" Her voice cracked with the effort of keeping tears from falling.

"No, I don't," Draco spat, his voice defiant.

Hermione swallowed. There would be no coming back from this. "You. Sixth year."

She heard Draco suck in a breath and pushed on.

"You are so focused on finding who is threatening our family—so obsessed, that everything else in your life is slipping away from you. It's unhealthy. It's not right. And frankly, I'm really, really worried about you."

With each word Hermione spoke, her tears edged closer to escaping.

It wasn't until she saw Draco's own tough exterior crack with the slight twitch of his eye that the first one rolled down her cheek.

"During sixth year you nearly lost who you were. You were so obsessed with that bloody cabinet that it nearly _killed you_. If everything had gone to plan, imagine where you would be. Certainly not here and definitely not with me or with Shiloh. You were only saved from that situation by the grace and goodwill of others—including me."

The change in Draco's face was immediate. The eyes that had been so crazed and heated of late grew wide, a layer of shock and misery growing in their place. His mouth fell slack and she watched him swallow. Hermione pushed on.

"And now I see those exact same tendencies creeping up in you. The paranoia. The obsession. I see the way your attention is slipping away from where it should be. From our daughter. From school. From _me_."

Hermione paused to take a breath. Draco was shaking from head to toe. Though he finally had room to say his piece, he remained silent, his eyes trained on the flagstone floor.

"You being that person again… that can't happen. I won't let it." Hermione reached out and placed her hand on Draco's shoulder. He looked up, right at her. As she spoke her next words, her voice trembled with the effort it took. "And if you dissolve into that person again, I don't care how much I love you. I'll do what I must to protect our daughter."

Draco's chest began to heave with emotion, the weight of her words breaking through the fog that had clouded his mind for weeks now. His eyes lifted and searched hers, disbelief shining from them.

"I couldn't—I would _never_—"

"Then how did our daughter almost get hit by her own mobile today?" Hermione pressed. "A little bludger almost struck her in the face. And have you noticed how completely exhausted I've been recently?"

Draco shook his head at the sudden change in topic.

"I mean, we're both tired—"

"Do you know how you've been getting so much sleep?" Hermione interrupted.

Confusion flickered across Draco's face. "What do you mean? We've both been getting mediocre sleep for months."

"No. _You've_ been getting mediocre sleep. _I_ just haven't been sleeping. I've been casting Muffliato around you after you fall asleep every night so that Shiloh won't wake you."

"Well… well that…" Draco stumbled over his words. "Why would you do that? I know what we agreed on, but you know I'm fine to take her at night if you really need it."

"We both know if you do, you're woken up by nightmares half the night. If you don't stay asleep, you're terrified and miserable. So I dealt with it. I knew you'd never agree to me casting Muffliato, so I didn't tell you. What I didn't expect was that you'd use your extra energy to fuel these conspiracy theories instead of taking proper care of Shiloh."

Draco had gone a pale shade of green. Though Hermione opened her mouth to mention her own lack of sleep, she quickly closed it when she looked closer at her boyfriend. He looked as though he might vomit.

"I'm sorry," he croaked after a minute.

"I don't blame you for being worried about the letter and the break-in. I'm worried, too. But I trust Professor McGonagall when she says she is investigating so we won't have to. Unlike our past Headmaster, I don't believe she withholds important information."

Draco winced at the mention of Dumbledore.

"No one is threatening us regularly. We both have plenty of enemies, but we've strengthened the wards on our rooms and the professors and our closest friends know what's been going on. Can you at least try to trust that it's going to be okay?"

She watched as Draco took a series of deep breaths. As he nodded in agreement, Hermione felt relief seep into her skin.

"I'm sorry," His head hung low, and his voice barely a whisper. "I'll try harder. I'll do better."

A surge of compassion rose in Hermione. She closed the gap between them, slipping her hand into his. Draco looked up, and she saw his grey eyes searching hers. Offering what she hoped was a comforting smile, she spoke in soft tones. "You're a great dad, Draco. And a wonderful boyfriend. Don't think that I'm telling you otherwise. It's just these last couple months that you've been _off_. I don't want you to lose sight of what's really important."

Draco shook his head. "I won't. I swear."

"Then I believe you." Hermione squeezed Draco's hand and leaned her head on his shoulder. "Let's get back to dinner, shall we?"

As they approached their seats across from each other at the Gryffindor table, Hermione was quick to spot Neville. He had a large smear of rice cereal down his front; Shiloh was his twin. There was more food on her clothing and top of her head than in her mouth. But she didn't seem to mind. She was giggling at something Ginny was doing as Neville cleaned the whole mess.

Neville grimaced as they sat. "I _tried_, I really did. Feisty little bugger, this one is."

"I don't doubt it," Hermione said, swinging her legs over the bench. "She's got two incredibly stubborn parents."

As Neville used a cloth to wipe away the cereal on the baby's face, Draco cleared his throat.

"Look–er, Longbottom. I'm sorry for being such an arse. I know you would never do anything to hurt Shiloh. She's in good hands with you. Even if you are complete bollocks at feeding her."

Neville snorted quietly. "Thanks for that vote of confidence, Malfoy."

Draco gave a half-smile and held out his arms. "I'll take her, if that's all right. I haven't had nearly enough time with her recently." Neville didn't hesitate. He lifted the slightly soggy but happy infant from the table and placed her in her father's arms. As soon as Draco brought her to his chest, she cuddled right to him. His face broke out into a full grin, and Hermione felt her heart soar as she watched him mumble sweet nothings into the top of their daughter's head.

Dinner resumed without a hitch, and Hermione finished her food in peace. The great venomous weight that had been growing in the pit of her stomach for some weeks had mostly dissolved. She was sure there would be more conversations like this to be had, but she hoped that this would be the worst of it. For now, her Draco—the Draco she loved—was back. And that was something she was determined to hold onto. He was her family now, and that meant she had to fight for him.

Later that night, after Shiloh had been placed in her cot, Hermione slid between the sheets and immediately reached for Draco. Burying her head in his chest, she held onto him tight.

"I really am sorry," he spoke into the darkness. "I had no idea you were staying up all night. I didn't know Shiloh's sleeping issues kept going after that healer visit."

"I'm sorry I kept it from you." Hermione adjusted herself so she was looking up into his face. "I guess we both have to get used to relying on others more."

Draco hummed in agreement and wrapped his arms around her torso. The feeling of the soft cotton of his pyjama shirt against her cheek reminded her of the first time Draco had worn a Muggle T-shirt all those months ago. He had been so unsure of himself wearing Harry's clothes, but had been willing to take that leap to try something out of his comfort zone. Draco had grown so much from those first days after sixth year when he had learned to ride a bike on the street in front of her home. Sometimes she forgot how far he had come… how much he had changed.

If their relationship was going to last, she needed to be more understanding that Draco had pockets of his former self that would always remain.

"I love you," Hermione murmured into his chest.

"I love you too." His warm breath in her hair was like the lullaby she didn't know she needed. Without casting Muffliato, she felt herself slowly drift off for however long Shiloh would allow her to sleep.

Perhaps, when she woke up later, Draco could get her instead. That would be nice for a change.

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**Draco is very sweet, yes, but he's still a very imperfect eighteen year-old.**

**Just as a reminder, please read author notes if you have squicks or things that might trigger you. I'll do my best to warn you. We're getting into the heart of the story.**

**Also, I just started a new WIP this week. It's called Subtle Perfection and it's a Dramione Ice Dancing AU! You can find it on my profile!**

**Thank you as always, dear readers~~~**


	10. Chapter 10

**Hello you all! I am shocked I remembered to post this week, honestly, because I moved house yesterday and everything is in chaos. Also, when we moved, the air conditioning in our new house wasn't working at all. So that was stressful. **

**But enough about me. On with chapter 10!**

**Many, many thanks to Graceful Lioness.**

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Draco had always known that he would be a father one day. It's what had always been expected of him. Marry a pureblood witch. Produce an heir. Instill manners and pride in that child to be passed on to even more generations of Malfoys.

It had all been so obscure. Abstract. Something far off in the future. He'd never given much thought to the day-to-day of raising a child. Now, seven months into fatherhood, he had one major realization: It was _so much_ more than he could have imagined.

The nappies… the crying… the frustration…

The giggles… the cuddles… the unconditional love…

Fatherhood was overwhelming yet wonderful all at the same time.

In the six weeks since he had pushed his paranoia aside, Draco had done everything in his power to be a good father—to prove to Hermione and to himself that he could be.

Because sometimes he wondered.

Hermione reassured him nearly every day that he was a good dad. But doubt was always there, lurking just behind the facade of a smile or a smirk.

The lack of threats in recent weeks helped to keep that itch to a minimum. Whoever had driven him to near-madness since his return to Hogwarts was clearly lying low. Or perhaps this person had simply given up.

Not that Draco found that particular scenario likely.

No, they were likely biding their time—waiting for an ideal opportunity to strike again.

Whoever they were, they were a sick fuck. The worst kind of person.

Before he had sworn off of digging into the matter, Draco ran through the list of suspicious students in his head. He tried to think of anyone who seemed put off by his return to Hogwarts.

Unfortunately, the list was extensive.

Name after name, faces whose names he didn't know... they blurred together after a while.

Yet, there was one name that stood out in his mind.

Blaise fucking Zabini.

He hadn't uttered a single word to Draco all year.

Though, he didn't need to. No, Blaise had said _everything_ in the way his fists clenched whenever Draco was near; in the way his eyes could never quite meet his. And the most painful of all, the way he'd cut his eyes at Shiloh whenever she was in the same room as him.

Draco had been brought to the edge of anger, teetering on the precipice of insanity trying to convince himself that there was absolutely no way his childhood friend could do something so horrible as threaten him and his child and Hermione—_his family_. Sure, they'd had a few laughs about Hermione when they were younger, but he never thought Blaise had been all that serious about it all.

He took a minute to let hatred fill every inch of his body, through his veins and his right down to his bones. It consumed him wholly, and in that moment, he allowed himself to imagine what it would be like to face Blaise—to confront him about his feelings of betrayal, his hatred, and his overwhelming sadness.

And then Draco remembered where he was: sitting at a table in his little flat. Hermione was asleep in their room just feet away. Shiloh slumbered in her cot just beyond there.

There was no room for such thoughts—for such fixations anymore.

But he couldn't focus on whoever was determined to make him miserable. He was determined to do better and _be_ better. He had to be stable and reliable for the sake of the two most important people in his life. Hermione had been right. That meant he had to put his daughter—and not just the _idea_ of her—first.

That's exactly what he did. Day in and day out, he did the work. He woke up early. Stayed up late. Changed nappies. He pushed everything else aside and in the process, he became overwhelmed and frustrated and full of an odd sort of joy unlike anything he had felt when fatherhood was still an obscurity.

In the hazy, early morning hours of December, Draco rocked in the simple wooden rocking chair that sat in his daughter's nursery. The sun had yet to peek over the mountainous horizon, leaving the world outside the window pitch black. Yet, inside the walls of the nursery, Draco's world was warm and bright. His infant daughter cuddled into his chest, her chubby fists grasping at his slate-coloured dressing gown. Her rosy cheeks, rounded and dimpled, pressed into him in a precious way he couldn't quite describe.

Draco leaned down and kissed the top of her fuzzy head. Whatever sleep regression she had been going through last month had finally subsided, and she now slept through most of the night. After taking a couple weeks to work out the kinks, he and Hermione finally found a routine. Hermione still took middle-of-the-night duty since it usually involved feeding. Draco took early mornings so that Hermione could sleep as late as possible.

After he adjusted to his new schedule, Draco found that he didn't mind waking up early with Shiloh. In fact, the wee hours of early morning were fast becoming his favourite part of the day. Quiet and unobtrusive, that time allowed him to reconnect not just with his daughter, but also with what it meant to be a dad.

On one particular December morning with Shiloh tucked snugly into his side, Draco summoned a coffee pot and mug from the kitchen to the nursery rocking chair where he was sitting. He charmed the objects so they poured the hot beverage on his behalf. Grabbing the floating mug out of the air, he brought it to his lips and sipped. The bitter liquid warmed him and slowly brought his mind to life.

"Good morning little pixie." Shiloh responded by yawning and burrowing into his pyjama shirt. "Did you have a good sleep?"

She stretched out in his arms.

Every time he looked at his daughter it hit him again and again how damn lucky he was. Becoming a dad was the thing he hadn't known he needed; it was like his life had reset the moment he cradled her in his arms for the very first time. Suddenly, he had purpose. Suddenly, all the months of suffering and soul-searching and actual torture meant something. As long as in the end, it led to his daughter—to his _family_.

In the aftermath of the war, Shiloh gave him a reason to put one foot in front of the other, and that was something he had almost lost sight of in these past few months.

While these mornings had been good for his bond with his daughter, he couldn't say that his bond with Hermione had the same strength. It was like their relationship had been catapulted backward—not to an antagonistic place, but back to those painful weeks earlier in the term when there had been that invisible barrier between them.

He still loved her, and was fairly certain she still loved him, but their connection had been strained since their confrontation in November. Draco could see the threads of trust straining under the weight of it all, and it was the very least he could do to be a better dad.

Despite his efforts to improve on that front, he wasn't sure how to mend his relationship with Hermione. Their conversations these days were often practical and clipped. Perhaps because of his strides in parenting, those conversations were mostly focused on Shiloh. Draco couldn't remember the last time they'd smiled at each other or showed any kind of affection. The lack of sex, while something he could tolerate, certainly wasn't helping matters. The way his body reacted to the curve or her arse when it pressed into him in their bed at night wasn't something he was ashamed of, but he was getting a little tired of having to wank in the shower.

It wasn't just sex, either. They didn't hold hands anymore, and they certainly didn't sneak off to snog in broom cupboards like others in their year. They didn't even sit quietly side-by-side before bed. They just crawled into bed and fell asleep without touching. It all felt so clinical… so practiced.

Draco just wanted to touch her. That would be enough.

Desire for sex and intimacy aside, he wanted to prove to her more than ever that he had changed—that he wasn't the same person he was during sixth year. He wasn't paranoid. He hadn't lost sight of what was important. He needed to show her that he wouldn't ever be _that_ person again.

These days, he tried to prove this to her from the moment he rolled out of bed until late at night when he nodded off at her side.

And she seemed to be noticing. Or rather, he hoped she did.

Recently, he'd caught Hermione watching him from afar. Eyes twinkling as she watched him play with Shiloh, the corners of her lips curled just slightly in the hint of a smile that made his heart long to reach out and touch her. If he was subtle enough, he could catch a glimpse of softness in her expression—a softness that disappeared the moment she realised he was looking back at her.

It was in those moments that Draco knew the love was still there.

Draco had long since abandoned the rocking chair in favour of the soft rug on the floor as the sun began to peek over the horizon, painting the room in bright stripes of light. When it became clear that Shiloh was officially awake for the morning, he had unshrunk a brightly-coloured Muggle contraption and sat her in it. For the past half-hour or so, Shiloh had amused herself with little baubles that whizzed and rattled and lit up. She had even started screeching when her favorite little bauble–a bumblebee, flipped upside down, and of course, wouldn't stop screeching until Draco fixed it.

"Dramatic little sprog, aren't you?" he muttered, the corners of his mouth tugging up. He leaned forward to watch his daughter shriek with joy. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hermione, clad in her powder blue dressing gown, leaning on the door frame. Her eyes had that same, soft look that made his heart clench.

Draco shot her a half-smile from his spot on the floor and this time, she returned it, tucking a curl behind her ear.

"Well, I think we both know where she gets that dramatic streak, don't we?"

As Hermione's smile turned cheeky, Draco gasped and drew back in feigned shock. "Me? Dramatic? Never!"

Hermione chuckled and folded her arms across her chest. "Well then what would you call your interaction with Buckbeak? Or all those little attention-getting antics you'd pulled first through fifth year?"

Snorting, Draco pushed himself to his feet and made his way over to his girlfriend.

"Well, since she takes after me, it's only fair that her first word is 'dada'."

He cocked his head to the side, hoping to to ignite the spark of a challenge in Hermione.

She didn't take the bait. Instead of playing along, she rolled her eyes.

"You can't guarantee that, Draco."

"Oh, I can't?"

"Shiloh isn't like some puppet we can control. She's going to say whatever she wants for her first word."

"Oh, _is_ she now?" Draco smirked before turning back to their daughter and kneeling beside her. "_Dada_, Shiloh. _Dada_. I'm _Dada_. _Dada, Dada, Dada_."

Shiloh shrieked with joy and reached forward, grabbing Draco's nose. Scooping her out of her Muggle contraption, Draco settled her on his hip. The baby wiggled in his grasp, and he rearranged his grip of her every few seconds. "So, who did you have in mind to watch her this morning while we're in Arithmancy?"

Although the words left his mouth with practised ease, his insides still wriggled with discomfort at the thought of someone else watching Shiloh.

"I was thinking Ginny. She only has Charms this afternoon."

"Oh, erm… Ginny sounds good."

Truth be told, of all the possible babysitters in this school, Ginny _was_ the best option. He trusted her implicitly not to drop Shiloh or do something stupid with her. Those twittering Ravenclaw seventh years… not so much. He had yet to ask the Greengrass sisters, but that was less on them and more on the company they kept. Specifically Blaise.

"Great." Hermione reached forward to wipe some drool from Shiloh's chin. "I have class this afternoon as well, so can you pack for the both of us?"

"Yeah. I can do that."

Today was the last day of classes before the Christmas holidays. Tomorrow, they would break their little routine to board the Hogwarts Express and head to the Burrow. He was really looking forward to spending another Christmas with the Weasleys—a wish that his younger self never would have believed. While Hogwarts house elves were excellent cooks, nothing beat one of Mrs. Weasley's roasts. Perhaps if he was lucky, she would let him help prepare it. It had been a while since he had cooked anything, and he found that he missed puttering around the kitchen.

Hermione stretched in the doorway and stepped into the nursery. "Okay, I'll feed her if you want to get dressed."

Draco pressed a kiss to his girlfriend's cheek as she leaned in to take Shiloh. It was the most affection he had dared to show for some time, but in the face of two weeks away from school, he was feeling bold.

She didn't pull away, but she didn't kiss him back either. Instead, Hermione smiled as she pulled Shiloh to her chest.

While it wasn't exactly what he wanted, it was a start.

The journey to Platform Nine and Three Quarters was long, but Draco felt immensely relieved when Shiloh slept for the majority of it. He, Hermione, Ginny, Luna, and Longbottom shared a compartment. Under normal circumstances it would have felt cramped, but with a baby on his lap? Well... it was more than a little crowded. Still, they spent their ride chatting amiably; Hermione even reached out and held his hand for a while. The feel of her hand in his kept a smile on his face even as he conversed with Luna about her absurd holiday travel plans.

Halfway through the journey, Theo poked his head into their compartment. It had been a while since Draco had seen him without Pansy or Blaise by his side. He had forgotten how… _harmless _Theo seemed on his own.

"This is a familiar sight," Theo mused, gesturing to them with the book in his hand. "Shame I can't join you this go 'round."

"And why not?" Luna looked up, blue eyes full of wonder as she tilted her head slightly.

Theo flashed his perfect teeth, his shoulders moving in a small shrug. "Duty calls, I'm afraid. Head Boy and all that rot. I also promised Blaisey-boy that I would sit with him this time."

Draco thought he caught the undercurrent of words unspoken, but he shook it off as more paranoia. He gave Theo a once-over, eyes dwelling on the shiny badge on his chest. It was originally meant for someone else—some seventh-year do-gooder Hufflepuff. But when that kid didn't turn up on the Hogwarts Express like so many other students who remained at home, McGonagall chose Theo as a last-minute option. After meeting with the headmistress a couple days into the term, Theo had stumbled back into the common room with his eyes wide and glazed over. He didn't say a word to anyone at first, instead downing a few shots of firewhisky before withdrawing his badge from his pocket and pinning it to his robes.

It had been strange, watching Theo Nott, of all people, enforce Hogwarts rules and dole out punishments. This was the boy who gave Draco his first taste of firewhisky in fourth year and who had been the first to laugh whenever Longbottom melted his cauldron. Which was often.

And now, Draco watched him spend an entire term keeping order in the corridors. Not that he was nearly as insufferable as Percy Weasley had been, but it was still odd.

As Theo leaned into their compartment, a small horde of little bodies pushed past him, jostling him a bit and giggling and running up the corridor.

"Oi!" Theo barked at the retreating first years, his relaxed expression shifting to stern almost immediately.

"Don't be too hard on them, mate." Draco frowned. "These firsties are just excited to get home."

Theo turned back to the compartment. "Gone soft, eh Draco? Our fifth year, you would have gone after them, taken loads of points, and given them all detention."

Draco shrugged, shifting his sleeping daughter against his chest. "As long as they don't cause a riot outside the compartment that'll wake _her_ up, I'm fine."

The rest of the journey passed quickly, with rugged countryside fading to urban jungles. As the train pulled into King's Cross Station, Ginny, Luna, and Longbottom were considerate enough to allow him and Hermione to stand first and make their way onto the platform. While Hermione cradled Shiloh to her chest in the carrier, Draco was tasked with handling all their belongings, including the shared trunk he had packed earlier and Shiloh's nappy bag.

Loaded down with bags, his wand pointed at the floating trunk, Draco walked just behind Hermione as she stepped down from the train and onto Platform Nine and Three Quarters. They were supposed to meet Mr. Weasley on the Muggle side of King's Cross, and he would help them floo back to the Burrow.

It was a straightforward plan, but from the moment Draco set foot outside the train, he could feel the weight of countless sets of eyes watching his every move. He felt their judgement—their anger as they moved across the platform. Some even whispered behind their hands while others openly sneered at him and his family.

He gripped at his forearm over his jacket.

In retrospect, it seemed foolish not to expect this type of reaction. The students at Hogwarts had come to accept him and his daughter, but it seemed their parents weren't quite as accommodating. They weren't prepared to see a former Death Eater, infamous war heroine Hermione Granger, and their bastard child strolling casually through the busy platform.

To outsiders, Draco knew how it looked. The Daily Prophet had little qualms about filling their gossip columns with rumors about them over the last several months. Though he and Hermione made a point not to read them, they had caught glimpses of absurd articles peeking out from behind _real_ news. Rumors about love potions and curses. Allegations of false imprisonment and something called Stockholm Syndrome. These false claims had done nothing to allay the paranoia he felt. The absolute last thing he wanted was his family splashed across the periodical.

A surge of protectiveness filled his chest, and Draco strode forward until he matched pace with Hermione. Once there, he positioned his body so that Shiloh's entire tiny form was hidden from prying eyes.

"Come on," he muttered to Hermione as they passed by a crowd of cross-looking parents. "Let's get out of here."

Draco levitated their trunk onto a trolley and the two of them made their way toward the barrier. The second they stepped into the Muggle part of the station, Draco felt the heaviness lift away; his lungs filled with fresh, cool air. All around him, Muggles moved past. Wonderful, ordinary Muggles who had no idea who he, Hermione, or their daughter were.

"Oi! Hermione!"

Draco's head whipped to the side, looking for the source of the voice. There, just over the heads of the busy Muggles, he saw the unmistakable red hair of a Weasley sticking out from the crowd.

"I thought Mr. Weasley was coming to pick us up," Hermione mused as they turned and walked toward the flaming-red hair. "That sounded just like—_Ron!_"

It was like the whole scene unfolded at half-speed. Ron Weasley, looking more muscular than lanky and… dare he say it _cool_, made his way through the crowd with his arms wide to embrace Hermione. A silly grin on her face, she charged forward and hugged him fiercely.

Draco couldn't help but feel a sinking in his chest. It had been so long since he had seen Hermione smile that brilliantly. And to think that Weasley was the one who helped her do that? It stung a little.

Draco's stomach began to sour, and it only worsened when Ron looked down at his goddaughter.

"Is that Shiloh?" he blurted, eyes wide. "She's so… she's so _big_!"

Hermione beamed.

As Ron held his arms out to take Shiloh, Draco saw Harry and Mr. Weasley also make their way past the crowds of Muggles. Potter looked similar to Ron—somehow stronger and more relaxed than he had ever seen The Boy Who Lived.

Thinking back to the last time he looked at his own reflection, all he could remember was a pale, exhausted face staring back at him. Compared to him, Ron and Harry were so vivacious and happy-looking. What was worse than their sudden change in appearance was seeing the way that Hermione looked at them—it hurt.

She hadn't looked at him like that in so long.

By the time Harry and Mr. Weasley reached out to him to shake his hand, a shriek drew their attention back to Ron and Hermione.

Weasley was holding Shiloh at arm's length, and one thing was absolutely clear: Shiloh _did not_ like being held by her godfather. Her face had turned red and she began wiggling, trying to escape the grasp of the man she'd once cooed at.

Without prompting, Draco dove in. Stepping past Harry and Mr. Weasley, he scooped his daughter from Ron's arms. "It's okay, pixie." He whispered into her hair as he bounced her to try and quiet the shrieks.

"Stop upsetting her, Weasley. She doesn't remember you. You can't just expect her to cuddle up to you immediately." Draco couldn't help the self-satisfied smirk that grew on his face as he watched Ron's face twist with indignation.

"You can't just—"

"Oh, I can't, can I? I'm her dad. And as her dad, I say that you're more than welcome to hold her when she's not terrified by you. Hmmm… probably your hair." He added as a final thought.

Draco adjusted his grip on Shiloh as she squirmed to hide from her godfather.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh, honestly. Don't tell me _this_ is going to be our entire holiday?" She faced the boys, hands on her hips. "Draco, play nice. Shiloh adores Ginny, and her hair is every bit as red as Ron's. And Ron, I hate to admit it, but Draco's right. Let's get Shiloh warmed up to you before you try to hold her again."

Ron muttered an agreement before turning toward the exit. The whole group followed with Draco bringing up the rear. As he rearranged the nappy bag on his shoulder, he reached over to tickle his daughter's tummy. The little girl, who had been screaming only moments before, now giggled happily in her father's grasp.

"Never lose your dramatic streak, pixie." He kissed the top of her head and made his way out with the rest of the group.

Much to his chagrin, Draco had to admit that Ron wasn't half bad as a godfather. After their arrival at the Burrow, the redhead peered over Hermione's shoulder as she changed Shiloh's nappy, practically taking notes. As he helped set the table for supper, he could have sworn he heard Ron muttering under his breath, "_Front to back, rubbish bin, cream, clean nappy…" _like an odd sort of mantra.

After that, even Draco couldn't deny that Ron was determined to do right by Shiloh. Only four days into the holiday, godfather and goddaughter were practically inseparable. The youngest Weasley son insisted on spending time with Shiloh, even volunteering to change nappies, feed her, and try to make her laugh when she was crying.

Draco wasn't certain he'd ever heard her giggle so much.

Though his stomach bubbled with envy, he had to admit that it was nice to be able to leave his daughter with someone he truly trusted. His younger self would be nothing short of horrified that he was relying on the Weasel King, but he couldn't complain when the babysitting gave him the opportunity to cook with Mrs. Weasley again.

Every afternoon, Draco spent his time with Molly, chopping, stirring, and prepping for their day's dinner. With Christmas drawing closer every day, more and more Weasleys began filling up the already-cramped house. When the sitting room got too crowded for Draco's taste, he could slip into the kitchen easily. Hermione liked the hustle and bustle of it all—the chaos of a large family. That didn't really surprise him, what with the way she spent the last Christmas: alone in the woods with Potter, pregnant, and nearly killed by that bloody snake.

This year, more often than not, he found her curled up on a couch with a blanket over her knees, her nose buried in a book. Though others around her carried on conversations without her—often about Quidditch or the nitty gritty of Auror training, she seemed content to simply share in their company.

They were always cozy scenes, warm and inviting. And Draco? He just stood on the outside of it all. Watching from the safe distance of solitude, afraid to step in and ruin the scene with his tainted image. Because the truth was, as warm and comforting as everything had been, Draco simply couldn't shake the feeling like he didn't belong.

"Come along, Draco," Mrs. Weasley called softly from just behind him. "If we want to get those cottage pies done in time for dinner, we ought to get started."

Draco tore his eyes away from his girlfriend, who sat wedged between a fidgety Harry and the armrest of the sofa. Mrs. Weasley handed him an apron and led him to a bin of potatoes. He charmed the paring knife to begin peeling and grabbed another to chop some carrots by hand.

"So tell me, dear." Mrs. Weasley was in front of the sink, washing a basket of leafy greens, speaking in soft motherly tones. "What's going on with you and Hermione? It's clear that something is eating at the two of you. You were so close this summer and now you've hardly spoken to each other since you arrived."

Trust Mrs. Weasley to not beat around the bush. It was perhaps the only thing this woman had in common with his mother.

Draco sighed. As talented as he was at burying his emotions and intentions, there was something about Mrs. Weasley that compelled him to talk. "It's… well—" He struggled to find the words he needed. "You would do anything to protect your family, right?"

Mrs. Weasley waved her wand and the water flowing in the sink stopped. She turned around; immediately, Draco saw concern sparking in her eyes.

"What's wrong? Did something happen?"

He set the knife onto the counter, that heaviness filling his chest. "Sort of. We… someone sent us a threatening letter back in September. And then in October someone… well, they broke into our room and left another threat."

Mrs. Weasley was at his side in an instant, her comforting arms enveloping around his torso.

"Oh, my dear. I had no idea. Are you all right?"

Draco nodded, a grimace growing on his face. "We are. And I wouldn't expect you to know about it. We kept it quiet. Besides," he gestured towards the full family room, "you have enough on your plate."

As these words left his mouth, he saw something odd flash in Mrs. Weasley's eyes. Disappointment? Hurt? No... it was closer to indignation.

"If you're referring to Fred then you clearly don't know me at all, Draco." She paused for a moment, wiping her hands on her apron. "Not having Fred here with us breaks my heart, but that doesn't mean that I can't care for my children who are still here, and that includes _you_."

Draco furrowed his eyebrows as he tried to process what Mrs. Weasley had just said. Did that mean…? He tried to form some sort of response, but all attempts caught on the rapidly forming lump in his throat.

Mrs. Weasley turned to face him. "After all our time together… all the time spent _here_ in this home, surely you realise that I think of you as my own?"

He could feel his heartbeat faster as her words sunk in. "So tell me again, Draco, how I don't have enough in me to care for one of my children."

The very ferocity of her tone was enough to shake Draco down to his core.

"You… you think of me like a son?" he croaked out as he stared into Mrs. Weasley's intense expression.

"_Of course_ I do!" Molly clucked, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You, Harry, _and_ Hermione… I didn't give birth to you, but you are every bit as much my child as the ones I did." She turned back to the sink to finish washing the greens. "You asked if I would do anything to protect my family. The answer is yes. I would do anything to protect my children. And that includes _you_."

This admission stunned Draco into silence. He simply stood, frozen, trying to understand her words. Muffled amiable chatter floated in from the sitting room, and the soft sound of scraping potato peels barely filled the heavy silence in the kitchen. Draco found that he could not meet Mrs. Weasley's eyes. Instead, he stared down at his shoelaces.

"I think," he began after a moment, "that I went too far trying to protect mine."

The words were simple enough to say, but he didn't have the courage to say them. Not since the explosive conversation with Hermione last month—the conversation that made him feel like a horrible boyfriend and father. When Mrs. Weasley didn't respond, he pressed on.

"I was so worried about someone coming to attack us that it took over my thoughts completely. I stopped paying attention to Hermione's needs and even to Shiloh's. I couldn't—_wouldn't_ help when Hermione really needed me. I feel like the monster everyone says I am. In that way, maybe whoever is threatening us is right."

The last words hadn't crossed his mind to even say aloud, but they came spilling from his lips before he could stop himself.

It was several seconds before Mrs. Weasley spoke, and when she did, the hesitant tone of her voice told Draco she was choosing her words very carefully.

"The stress of what you're going through would affect anyone. Now, I don't know the particulars of what you did, but I do know one thing about you. You are committed to Hermione and to that little baby, and whatever you _did_ do, it was out of love for them."

Memories of a frazzled, exhausted Hermione and his screaming daughter filled his mind as Mrs. Weasley spoke. Her words vaguely made sense, but somehow, they just couldn't be right. He shook his head, opening his mouth to deny the allegations that he was acting out of love when Mrs. Weasley interrupted.

"I don't know what's going on in that head of yours. I don't know what hurtful words you two said to each other or that you heard from someone else. But right now, you listen to me and you listen well: You are _not_ a monster, Draco Malfoy."

His face flushed with a shameful sort of heat. He focused even harder on his shoelaces, his hand unconsciously moving to his forearm. After one too many seconds of silence, he felt Mrs. Weasley's strong grip around his upper arms. His head snapped up. Her face was close—almost too close, her eyes burning with the kind of passion he hadn't seen in them since she had lived under this roof a year ago.

"I said to _listen_."

Draco nodded.

"Repeat after me: I'm not a monster."

Draco felt that familiar lump rise in his throat. He opened his mouth, but no words came out.

"I. Am. Not. A. Monster." Mrs. Weasley articulated each syllable, her loving gaze never leaving his.

He swallowed and his breath came out ragged. Bracing himself, he opened his mouth again.

"I'm… not—"

Draco choked.

Why was it so hard to say this simple sentence? It was like his tongue kept getting tied in knots, his throat constricting—forbidding him to say these words. Draco clenched his fists and inhaled deeply through his nose.

"I am not a monster," he croaked.

Mrs. Weasley nodded. "Again. Like you _believe_ it this time."

"I am not a monster," he spoke again, more clearly this time.

"You're not a monster, Draco."

"I'm not a monster." For the first time in a long time, he began to believe that he was speaking the truth.

Mrs. Weasley's grip moved from his arms up to his shoulders. All the while, her eyes stayed on him. "Hermione loves you. I've seen the way she looks at you. You and that little baby are her whole world. I'm sure it was devastating for her to see you unravel like you did. You both went through hell together—we _all_ have. We have to be forgiving of ourselves, or we're never going to be able to smile again."

There was no question that Mrs. Weasley wasn't just talking about him anymore.

"Fred." He nodded, the name hanging in the warm kitchen air between them.

"I can't tell you the number of times I've tried to rework that night in my head—that whole damn war, just trying to find a way that I could have done something different. That I could have saved him. But It's just another form of torture. It won't bring Fred back. It won't bring _anyone_ back... so I'm working on being kind to myself, and not allowing myself to dwell on what-if's. And Draco? I think you should be kind to yourself, too."

Draco couldn't think of what to say, so he only nodded.

"_Talk_ to Hermione. Openly. Honestly. Spend time with her—_just her._ Merlin knows Ron will be more than happy to look after Shiloh. He is so enamored with that little girl." Molly shook her head in amusement, chuckling to herself as she turned back to the sink. "And as to those threats, keep alert, but stay busy. I have a feeling it will all work out in the end. Minerva is a force to be reckoned with these days. I doubt there's much that goes on in that castle without her knowing."

Draco leaned against the kitchen counter. He supposed there was a degree of truth to that. McGonagall had always scared him in a way that Dumbledore never could.

Mrs. Weasley clapped her hands.

"Now enough of all that. We've got a supper to prepare. How are the potatoes coming along?"

If staying busy was what it would take to get his mind off of all the mistakes he had made, then that was exactly what he would do.

* * *

**The interactions between Draco and Mrs. Weasley are some of my favorite to write.**

**The next update: Christmas part 2**

**Take care of yourselves, everyone!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Hi, folks! I'm happy to report that my move went well and I'm back from a week of vacation in OBX. **

**This week, I present my version of Christmas in July (oops it's super fluffy).**

**It's not as important this week, but please remember to check author notes. This chapter is fluffy, but this story has many elements that are not. **

**Thanks as always to the incredible MsMerlin and Graceful Lioness.**

* * *

By the time Christmas Eve rolled around, the Burrow had reached full capacity. Not only was the entire Weasley clan present—plus Hermione, Shiloh and himself, but Andromeda and baby Teddy had also decided to join in the celebrations.

"I wanted him to be with a proper family for his first Christmas," Andromeda had explained over Christmas dinner, looking a little too much like his Aunt Bellatrix for his comfort.

Having two more bodies in the house made it even more cramped, but no one really seemed to mind. Especially Harry. From the moment they'd arrived, he swooped in and took his godson, spending all of Christmas eve cuddling the baby and playing with him. Draco couldn't help but notice that when he, Ginny, and Teddy all sat together on the floor, they looked like a real family.

As the evening progressed, there was a bit of excited buzz centered around the possibility of Shiloh and Teddy becoming best friends, seeing as they were only two weeks apart.

But to everyone's dismay, Teddy and Shiloh seemed to have little or no interest in becoming friends. In the greatest fit of laughing he had in a long while, Draco watched as the two babies kept crawling just past the other after several deliberate attempts to get them to at least acknowledge each other.

"Oh, I hope they'll be friends at Hogwarts," Ginny piped up as they watched the two infants lying together on the sitting room rug. "They'll be in the same year after all."

Draco thought about the two babies as he fell asleep that night—one with wispy brown locks and the other with a thick head of turquoise curls. It brought a bit of comfort to him, knowing that his daughter would have a lifelong friend with her when she went away to school for the first time. Although it was years away, his heart already ached at the thought of being apart from her.

Harry seemed to think along similar lines.

"I know it seems crazy," the Boy Wonder said before daybreak on Christmas morning as he shifted Teddy in his arms. "But I swear he grows ten times faster when I'm not around. Almost makes me want to not go back to Auror training." Harry kept his eyes trained on his godson, and Draco was all too familiar with the look in his eyes.

Draco had stumbled down to the kitchen at the Burrow, a very awake baby held against his not-so-awake body, only to find his once-nemesis in a remarkably similar situation. They now stood across from each other on either side of the kitchen sink, pyjama clad, bottles in hand, and hair mussed.

To Potter's credit, though, his hair didn't look that much different from normal.

"You're lucky."

Draco raised an eyebrow at Harry. "Oh?"

Harry set Teddy's bottle down on the counter and reached his hand over to caress Shiloh's cheek with his knuckle. "You get to see her every day. Be with her. Raise her. I only get to see Teddy every couple of months. He's always so much bigger—so much different. And he never remembers me."

Harry retracted his hand and leaned onto the counter with a sigh, cradling his godson against his chest.

Draco took the moment to really soak in his girlfriend's best mate. Not that Harry Potter had ever been much to look at, but at this exact moment, he had clearly seen better days. In Draco's best estimation, he most resembled a new father: not sleeping, overwhelmed, a bit panicked, and head over heels in love. And to think, just days before he had looked like some sort of marble statue.

Whether or not he truly wanted to, Draco could relate to Harry. By comparison, he was practically a pro. He watched as Harry rearranged Teddy in his arms multiple times.

"Can't get comfortable?" Draco mused as he winded his daughter.

Harry shook his head. "Nah, it's like whatever's comfortable for him just gives me pins and needles."

"I get it." Draco nodded along. "It takes a lot of getting it wrong to figure out what works. I've had time to do that and you're doing the best you can with a weekend every other month. But once you're done with this part of your training you'll be able to see him all the time." He paused for a moment, considering his next words carefully.

"And calling me lucky?" Draco transferred Shiloh to his side while he folded her dirty burp cloth and set it down on the kitchen counter. "I'm lucky that I have Shiloh, and Hermione. They basically saved my damn life. _I'm_ lucky to have _them_. But trust me when I say that you've got to enjoy your time in Auror training while you can. You don't need to rush into taking care of a baby full time like I have to."

Harry's eyes flicked from Shiloh to Teddy before settling back onto Draco. "I know, but—" He ran a hand through his jungle of a head. "I wanna be there for him, you know? We're… alike, he and I."

Draco felt the corner of his mouth twitch. "And you _will_ be there for him. Don't worry about it so much. Kids are resilient. Hell, if there's any shred of hope that Shiloh will turn out okay with a dad like me, Teddy's gonna be just fine. Any amount that he has you… it's priceless."

Harry stared at him for a moment, mouth agape, before he began to chuckle. "Bloody hell, Malfoy. When'd you get so sentimental? And nice to me?"

Draco shrugged, summoning two mugs from the cabinet. "Don't read too much into it, Potter. Fatherhood'll muck up your brain. Turn you into a sentimental fool. Just you wait 'til She-Weasel pops one of yours out. You'll see."

Draco took a bit of sick pleasure at watching Harry Potter turn bright purple. "Ginny—we're not—she's not—I mean, she _is_, but—"

Oh, Merlin. He couldn't watch Potter trip over his own tongue this badly. It was too painful. "_Relax._ It's just a joke."

Harry grimaced. The man focused back on Teddy as Draco prepared a pot of coffee with his free hand. When he levitated the mug over to Potter, he accepted it readily, sighing into his first sip. The sun had officially crossed over the horizon, painting the kitchen in brilliant oranges. A splash of it managed to find its way past the curtains and land directly on Potter's face.

"Don't discount yourself, Malfoy. Both Hermione and Shiloh really are lucky to have you," Harry broke the comfortable silence that fell between them. "Hermione doesn't talk about it directly that much, but I can tell. For some daft reason, she's in love with you. Completely, head-over-heels in love."

Draco raised an eyebrow as he watched Potter raise the mug to his mouth again.

"And what makes you say that?"

"I see the way she looks at you—like you're her whole world. That look was only reserved for library books, once upon a time."

As Harry looked at him with a tiny smirk, he couldn't quite tell whether he was being serious or not.

"In love?"

"Well, yeah. Surely she's told you."

Draco sighed, leaning on the counter as Shiloh contentedly chewed his shoulder. "I mean, she's said she loves me. But _in love_? That's entirely different, right?"

"I guess." Harry shrugged. "I'm pretty pants at the whole romance thing, so I'm just going off of what others've said." He set his mug down and adjusted Teddy again. "So… are _you_ in love with her?"

Draco's eyes grew wide at the direct nature of the question. He considered his former nemesis for a moment. What incentive did he have for revealing how he felt to Potter? Were there any drawbacks? He quickly weighed his options in his mind, but with each passing second, Harry's eyebrows rose higher on his forehead.

Bugger it all. Potter would find out eventually, wouldn't he?

"Yeah. I'm in love with her."

Draco couldn't help the grin that spread across his face as the words tumbled from his lips. Reaching for his mug, he tried to hide that grin behind it.

"Oh shit. You _are_ in love."

Draco's ears should have turned scarlet. In the past, he might have stormed away or told Potter to shut up and mind his own business. But there was no use hiding it when in fact, joy bubbled within him at the admission. He shrugged. "Well, yeah. I am. In love."

Harry shook his head and whistled. "I just wanted to check. Hermione's my best friend, after all."

"Yeah, I know."

"If you break her heart, I'll drag you along the back of my Firebolt over a field of blast-ended skrewts. I hope you know that."

Draco grimaced. "Noted."

They both leaned against the counter and soaked in the calm that surely would precede the chaos that was Christmas at the Burrow.

Once again silence fell between them, an odd sort of comfort filling the space where animosity used to live. Perhaps Potter wasn't so bad. Draco could get used to this casual sort of friendship—especially since it made Hermione happy.

"I'm glad Hermione has you," Harry spoke up once more as he rearranged Teddy in his arms again. "Never thought I'd say something like that, but it's true. So thanks—_Draco_. For being there for Hermione."

"Don't mention it."

Draco watched as Shiloh drifted back to sleep in his arms. She was completely unaware that today was special. Perhaps next year she would be a bit more excited about Christmas. He imagined more Christmases like this—packed at the Burrow, full of joy; he imagined his little daughter waking him up around this time, insisting they all go downstairs and open presents from Father Christmas.

And in all those imaginings, Potter, Teddy, and Ginny were there as well.

Everyone else in the house managed to roll out of bed by eight o'clock. They all arrived downstairs in their dressing gowns with bleary eyes and vague notions of opening gifts. Hermione came down with everyone else, and seemed glad to take Shiloh into her arms. She thanked Draco for taking the baby with a kiss to his cheek.

Once enough coffee had been passed around, the whole family gathered in the sitting room, nursing their mugs and staring at the large pile of presents under the tree.

Draco didn't expect much. He was, after all, still a bit of an intruder on this family's Christmas. But that notion was quickly disproven when he received a book on healing from Bill and Fleur, a sneakoscope from Harry, a broomstick care kit from Ginny, and a familiar-looking lumpy package from Mrs. Weasley. Oddly enough, he and Hermione received two identical-looking packages along with a much smaller one.

"Go on. Open them together," Mrs. Weasley encouraged from her seat on the couch, beaming a sleepy smile in their direction. Draco didn't have to open his to know what was inside. He had received a nearly-identical present last year. It had almost overwhelmed him then, and he was sure that this year would be no different.

Ripping the paper, he discovered a soft navy jumper waiting for him inside.

"Oh, thank you so much Mrs. Weasley," Hermione murmured as she unfolded her own navy jumper. "It's lovely."

"There's one for Shiloh as well," the Weasley matriarch piped up. "That way you'll all match. You'll look like a proper family."

Draco pulled the jumper over his head as Ginny opened the final presents under the tree: a necklace and a clip-on speedometer for her broom—both from Harry.

From his vantage point on the floor, Draco's could see both Ginny's and Hermione's expressions clearly. Ginny looked positively elated as she crawled over discarded wrapping paper to kiss Harry in thanks. Hermione looked at the two with a funny look on her face. It almost looked like yearning.

Surely, she wasn't expecting a gift. They had agreed not to get each other anything this year. Instead, they had planned on going on a date tomorrow.

That was enough for her, wasn't it?

"All right, you lot." Mr. Weasley cleared his throat, standing from his spot on the couch beside his wife. "Let's get this place cleaned up so we can get breakfast ready."

Everyone, including Draco, began shuffling to their feet for a moment before a voice cut through the quiet.

"Wait a moment. Draco didn't give anything to Hermione."

_Ron. _

"Honestly, it's fine." Hermione spoke up. "Draco and I already talked and—"

"But it's Christmas. Every bloke gets his girl a present on Christmas. And here I thought you were going to make an honest woman out of her, Malfoy."

All the shuffling of wrapping paper stopped as everyone in the sitting room froze.

Draco felt his jaw drop. The _audacity_. How—how—

"Ronald Weasley!" Draco's head whipped over to see Hermione, face purple, mouth thin, with fire in her eyes. "An _honest woman_? Are you _serious_?"

Draco opened his mouth to add something, but Hermione continued her tirade.

"What Draco and I do or do not do is none of your business, Ron. I understand that you care about me, but you have no say about if and when we get m-married."

"If?" Ron interjected. "So you don't even know if that's going to happen? I mean, he got you pregnant. If it was me, I'd have asked you ages ago."

Pure rage ripped through Draco. He thought Weasel had grown up—had stopped being such an arsehole. But apparently, he was wrong. He wanted to scream at the idiot they had named Shiloh's godfather. Wanted to tell him to mind his own damn business. He didn't care at all that they were surrounded by a group of nonplussed Weasleys. But before he could say anything, Hermione pressed on, still seething.

"Well it's a good thing wasn't _you_ who got me pregnant," she hissed, venom dripping from each word. "We never—well, _you know,_ and right now I am very thankful we didn't because you're being a right git!" Hermine's whole face went red, but she pushed on. "You have no place in my relationship with Draco, Ronald Weasley. And whether or not we're going to get married is absolutely none of your business.. You don't get to be a part of that conversation."

"But Hermione—"

"Ronald, you better stop talking now or so help me, you'll ruin Christmas for everyone here."

"Yeah, Ronnekins. You're being an arse," piped up George from somewhere near the kitchen.

Draco watched as Ron's ears turned purple in what seemed to be an effort to keep his mouth shut.

"Come on, Ron," said Harry, stepping into the middle of the confrontation. "I think you've done enough damage for now. Let's… go see how we can help in the kitchen, yeah? Draco here looks like he wants to twist your head off."

Draco became suddenly aware as all eyes turned to face him.

He hadn't realized his hands were balled in fists.

Draco paced back and forth in the room he shared with Hermione for nearly an hour after breakfast. Hermione watched from the bed while Shiloh napped in her cot.

"Draco…" Hermione started to talk after he walked the empty floor space between the desk and the bed for about the two hundredth time. "Don't let Ron get to you. He only… he only wants what's best for us—for Shiloh."

Draco paused by the desk, leaning over to grip the desk chair with his hands. His jaw tensed as he tried to calm himself enough to speak.

"I just—he has _no right_ to bring that up, assuming that I haven't done right by you and by Shiloh just because we haven't—" He snarled again and began his pacing anew. But unlike before, he stopped after only three trips across the room. Turning slowly to face Hermione, he felt his stomach fall to his feet.

Suddenly, all the anger he had felt turned into bubbling anxiety. He swallowed. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, more timid.

"You—you do think I've done right by you and Shiloh, don't you?" Draco's breathing hitched as he waited for Hermione's answer. All the anxiety from the past weeks came shooting to the surface, raw and painful. Harry may have tried to assure him that Hermione was in love with him, but in the moment, waiting for Hermione to speak, he felt nothing but the expanse of uncertainty.

He'd fucked up. He knew that. Treated her poorly. Not paid enough attention to Shiloh. He knew _all _that. Hermione sure as hell knew it, too.

So now he would find out.

Hermioine didn't speak at first, choosing instead to scoot back and pat the spot beside her. With heavy footsteps, Draco plodded to the bed and sat next to Hermione, twiddling his thumbs in his lap. Waiting for her to say something—_anything_—felt like he was holding his breath underwater, hoping, praying that he could emerge to breathe soon.

"You've definitely done right by us, Draco. You're a good dad. And except those few weeks this autumn, you've been wonderful to Shiloh. And me," she added as an afterthought.

Draco inhaled through his nose, tilting his head back to look at the ceiling. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Hermione looking at him, her head resting on her knees, which were drawn up to her chest.

He found he couldn't bring himself to look at her when he asked his next question.

"And about what Ron said. You and I both know what he was implying. Do you…" Draco shook his head and cleared his throat, trying to steady his voice. "Do you want to get married someday? Is that… something you'd like?"

Once again, Hermione didn't respond quickly. So he talked, unable to prevent the verbal vomit that came out.

"I mean, because I don't want to ask out of the blue and find out that you don't want to get married—Because then I'd look like a total arse. Not that I'm planning on asking... Unless you want me to. In which case I might?" Draco grimaced as his words. He was floundering—sounding more and more foolish every second. He continued, still staring at the ceiling. "I mean… _Do you_ want to get married? At all? Ever? To me?"

Silence followed and his heart felt like it might explode.

He scrunched his eyes shut. "_Please_ say something."

Draco felt a hand on his knee. His head whipped around so quickly his neck cracked.

Hermione was looking at him in a way she hadn't in a long time. If ever. Was this a new look? She stared at him, her head still resting on her knees. Her eyes were soft. Molten, almost. And she wasn't smiling. Not really, anyway. There was the slightest upturn in the corner of her lips. It was barely there, but Draco saw it.

He felt his mouth go dry.

"Say something," he pleaded, surprised when his words came out breathy, nervous.

"I do want to get married," she said quietly, soft eyes never leaving his. "Someday. Maybe to you. Probably to you."

Draco's stomach flip flopped. His heart thudded against his ribcage.

"And I know we have to think about Shiloh," she continued. "But I don't think we're ready to get married. We're…well, we're only nineteen and there's still so much about you I don't know."

She squeezed his leg, and he placed his hand over his to squeeze back.

"And there's so much about me you don't know either."

"Yeah," Draco nodded. "You're right."

It was unexpected, the sense of disappointment that bloomed in his chest.

"Is that… okay?" Hermione tilted her head slightly. "Waiting? Making sure that we're a good fit?"

Draco sighed, squeezing her hand again. He gave her a half-smile.

"Good fit. Yeah. Let's do that."

Silence grew between them, but unlike the silences that had felt like creeping weeds during the past few weeks, this one bloomed gently. Draco's eyes drifted to Shiloh, who was still fast asleep in her cot. His gaze lingered on her tiny hands and her long eyelashes, and he couldn't help the warmth that spread in his chest.

"I want to give her a proper family," he said after a minute, chancing a glance at Hermione. "One day."

"Same," she replied, licking her lips. "Eventually."

"_Eventually._"

The air hung between them, thick with promise and the hope of a future Draco had hardly dared to dream for himself.

All throughout his sixth year and during the war, he had been so certain that there was no hope for any sort of future. Not one worth having, anyway.

Even in the last few months—even with a child of his own—that future had seemed just out of reach. Like he would never be able to be the kind of man who deserved a future with someone like Hermione or the kind of father that Shiloh deserved.

But looking at Hermione now and seeing the way her eyes shone with honesty and hope and _love_, Draco wanted to believe more than ever that his instincts were wrong. He wanted to give in—wanted to hope that it would all be okay somehow. Someday.

For some reason, Draco's mind shifted back to the early hours of this morning—back to his conversation with Harry.

_"Oh, shit. You are in love."_

It was such a simple realization, really.

He was in love with Hermione Granger.

He was going to marry her one day.

At once, all the hope that he hadn't dared to feel filled him to the brim. It drove out all the anger and fear and hatred that had taken hold in these past years and left him wanting nothing more than to show Hermione exactly the kind of man he could be. The kind of man who deserved to be with her.

Draco lifted his arms so he could cradle her face in his palms.

Perhaps he should have been nervous to say the words that danced on the tip of his tongue. Perhaps he should have waited until the bumps in their relationship were more settled.

But when he looked into her eyes, he knew that nothing else in his life felt as right as this.

"I'm in love with you, Hermione." The words spilled from him. "I'm bad at showing it sometimes, but I want you to know. I _need_ you to know."

Draco paused for a minute, floundering in the middle of his own speech, waiting for some sort of sign from Hermione.

It came as a kiss.

Hermione shifted from her spot on the bed, swinging a leg over his lap so she straddled him. Her arms wrapped around his neck, fingers carding through his hair.

Draco got one, single second to take in the tender expression in her eyes before she kissed him, her lips soft and pliant. She pressed her chest into his, and it was like his whole body melted into hers. They hadn't been this close in weeks. Draco had almost forgotten how good it felt to have Hermione's body in his arms. Even over their Christmas jumpers, he could feel the curves he knew by heart. His hands itched to touch every inch of her skin, to show her exactly how he felt about her with his fingers and his mouth and his cock.

"Say it again," she murmured against his lips. He could feel the corners of her lips curling up. "Tell me."

"I'm in love with you."

She pressed her forehead against his, almost reverent.

"Again."

"I'm in love with you, Hermione Granger. And one day, when I ask you to marry me, I hope you'll say yes."

Draco wasn't sure where the confidence to say those words came from, but they felt right from the second they left his tongue. Even in the millisecond it took Hermione to respond, he couldn't bring himself to worry. Because—

"I'm in love with you too."

It was like time stopped. Like his lungs filled faster and fuller than they ever had before.

She was in love with him. The words were nearly the same, but they felt so different than anything they had uttered before. She didn't just love him. She was _in love_.

This time, he made the first move. There was too much space between them. There had been too much space for so long. Barriers. Walls. Draco wanted to tear them all down. He was tired of things coming between them.

It was up to him to remedy that.

His lips found hers. He took his time, savouring the way her mouth molded to his perfectly. Draco moved carefully his hands over her curves, testing the waters after aching for her touch for so long.

Touching her was like drinking from a fountain he had been seeking endlessly. And he was so parched.

Everywhere his hands traveled, he found softness. Her breasts. Her sides. Her thighs.

Hermione's hands remained buried in his hair, and it felt like a gift from Merlin, himself.

Draco was content to not go beyond kissing Hermione tonight. He could stay in this moment and savior it forever. _This_ was enough to fill his well if this was all she would allow, but oh, how he wanted more.

He wanted to feel her skin beneath his fingers. He wanted to kiss every inch of her body. He wanted to be as close as he could possibly be to the woman he was so madly in love with.

As if she could read his mind, Hermione's hands raked through his hair one last time and trailed down the nape of his neck, sending a shiver through his whole body. They kept moving down and down...

As much as Draco wanted to take his time and make the moment sweet, once Hermione's hands found the hem of his jumper and the buckle of his belt, there was no way he would be able to hold back. It had been too long.

A frenetic energy built up between them as layers of clothing were peeled from their bodies and tossed into a messy pile somewhere out of sight. Hermione climbed off of him, just for a moment, to step out of her trousers and knickers, before straddling him once more.

Draco's lips found hers. She was more demanding than before, tongue sliding into his mouth, taking what she wanted as her hips pressed against his in a slow grinding rhythm. Draco basked in her sweetness, nipping at her lower lip and moaning when her tongue began to match the pace of her hips.

He held tightly to her arse now, encouraging the slow, luxurious undulations of her centre against his cock. With each movement, a jolt passed through his body, and it only made him grip her flesh tighter. He kneaded her cheeks with his fingers as Hermione's hands ran across the expanse of his back and over the planes of his chest.

They had both been starved of each other's touch for so long, and their needs were bubbling to the surface, demanding and fierce.

Draco revelled in the feeling of her skin against his—in the weight of Hermione on his lap. Pleasure only mounted higher as she continued to move against him, her hips canting against his eager length. All the while, her mouth claimed his, fierce and possessive in a way it had never been before.

Hermione was panting, fully exposed, her eyelids hooded with desire. She wanted him.

He _needed_ her. Needed to feel her tight, wet heat. Needed to feel as close to her as physically possible—_now._

"Potion?" he murmured against her breastbone.

"Brewed it last month."

Draco didn't need any more convincing.

One hand traveled from her arse to cup her sex. His fingers found her clit and began to swirl it. He used the hand on her arse to lift her slightly and help her line up.

There was a brief moment—just before—when Draco observed with a spike of gratification that she was already coming apart in his arms. By the time he was sheathed fully inside of her, she was moaning, her own eyes closed.

It was like coming home. Like the entire universe had been made for this sensation. She was so hot. And _fuck_, she was wet. And when she started to ride him, it was all he could do to hold on.

His eyes flicked back and forth from watching Hermione's face to watching his cock disappear into her sweet little cunt again and again.

"_Fucking love you,"_ he chanted into her slick skin. "_So fucking in love with you." _

She responded with a muffled, but deliciously wild cry that made his hips rise up to meet hers.

Though they moved together in a frenzy, the sweetness of the moment never left Draco. Even as he felt his balls tighten and his whole body flushed with warmth, he knew that this was more than just shagging. This was something far beyond that.

With one more cry from Hermione, her walls began to flutter around him, drawing out his euphoria until it burst and he spilled inside her.

Everything had melted. His bones. His muscles. Everything was jelly. Draco moved his hands and clutched Hermione to his chest with all his remaining strength. They stayed like that for Merlin knew how long. He lazily pressed his lips into every inch of skin he could find, languid and sated.

When his lungs were finally working again, he lifted his head, searching for Hermione's eyes. She was doing the same. The moment their gazes met, they both opened their mouths.

"I love you—"

The moment the identical phrase left both their mouths, Draco caught a glint in Hermione's eye.

Without any warning, he felt a laugh bubble up in his chest. It burst out, echoing around the room, and at the same moment, Hermione began giggling too. They laughed together, loud and clear for five whole seconds before they both clamped their hands over their mouths.

"Shh—!"

"The baby—!"

They both froze, catching each other's eyes again. Draco's eyes went wide as Hermione clearly struggled to hold in a laugh.

Hands shaking with the effort it was taking to keep himself from bursting into laughter again, he reached for his wand on the bedside table and pointed it at Shiloh.

"_Muffliato." _

The second Draco tucked the wand back in its place, he saw Hermione raise an eyebrow at him, and in that instant, they both burst out laughing, full, rich, and bright. They were still intimately connected, and Draco somehow knew that that was contributing to their giggle fit. Tears leaked from their eyes and Draco clutched the stitch in his side as his lungs burned.

He couldn't remember the last time he laughed so hard.

It was nice.

When their breathing finally returned to normal and all the tears had been wiped away, Draco found that the heavy air that had been hanging around for weeks no longer surrounded them quite so strongly. In fact, he felt lighter than he had in a long while. He withdrew himself from her and moved so they sat side by side once again.

"I love you, Hermione," he whispered, running his thumb over her knuckles. "I love you and one day, I swear I'll marry you if you'll have me. But for right now, I really want to just be with you." He swallowed and quaked under the vulnerability of the moment. "Is that okay? Can I just be with you?"

Hermione gave him a watery smile and nodded.

They climbed under the covers after that, wrapped in each others' arms. Their future, their past… nothing else mattered but the two of them pressed against each other in Charlie Weasley's old bedroom.

There were many things to worry about, but they were all worries for another day.

There was nothing that could come between the two of them now.

* * *

**Christmas smut! **

**Love you all! **

**-Biscuits**


	12. Chapter 12

**IF YOU HAVE TRIGGERS, PLEASE SEE THE END-OF-CHAPTER NOTE. **

**IF YOU DON'T WANT TO BE SPOILED/DON'T HAVE TRIGGERS, PLEASE DON'T READ THE END OF CHAPTER NOTE. **

**Thanks as always to MsMerlin and Graceful Lioness.**

* * *

"_Oh gosh—she's doing it! She's doing it, Draco! Come see!"_

_Hermione tore her eyes from Shiloh for half a second to watch as Draco came sprinting into the nursery from their little kitchen, half-washed bottles in hand, elation filling his eyes._

"_She's doing it?" he echoed, his voice breathless._

_Hermione nodded and turned back to their daughter. Shiloh was on her hands and knees, rocking back and forth in her blue footie pyjamas. She had been edging closer and closer to crawling with each passing day, and Hermione swore that this time Shiloh had moved one of her knees._

_She had been scooting around on her tummy for several weeks, reaching for her mummy's wand or some other shiny bauble. The transition to supporting her own weight on her hands and knees was relatively new. But every time she came close and Hermione and Draco gathered around her to watch her arrive at her new milestone, she would suddenly lose interest, falling onto her bottom and looking around before declaring in a loud and confident voice, "Ba!"_

_What exactly she meant by, "Ba!" Hermione had no idea, but she hoped it didn't translate to, 'A watched cauldron never boils.'_

_But this time would be different. She was sure of it. Shiloh seemed confident, somehow. Bold. Excited. She had a glint in her eye as she stared at a plush dragon sitting on the floor nearby._

"_Come on," Draco egged on in a whisper, his own eyes wide, identical to his daughter's._

_Shiloh rocked back and forth again, as if she was trying to convince herself that she was ready to propel herself forward._

_Draco crouched down beside Hermione, the two of them following an unspoken agreement to be silent observers from this moment. Even though Draco's soapy hands began to drip onto the rug, she said nothing, choosing to watch Shiloh instead._

_One knee forward. Then an arm._

_Shiloh moved forward a couple inches before collapsing onto her tummy. Hermione watched as Draco grimaced._

_She no longer doubted the kind of father he was to their daughter._

_Watching him watch Shiloh made her heart sing._

_A shriek from Shiloh made Hermione whip her head around. She was back on her hands and knees, rocking once more. This time, her wide, gummy smile stretched across her face as she stared at the plush dragon._

_One knee forward. Then an arm._

_Then again. And again. And again._

_She kept crawling until she was close enough to the dragon to reach out and grab it in her pudgy little fingers. And as she fell backwards onto her nappy-padded bottom with the dragon in her clutches, Hermione and Draco surged forward to scoop her up and shower her with praise._

"_Well done, darling!"_

"_That's our girl!"_

Hermione recalled yesterday's lovely memory as she sat, staring at her Arithmancy textbook. It was a scene so domestic, so filled with sweetness that Hermione almost forgot that it was the heart of a dreary, depressing winter.

She almost forgot the strain she had felt in her relationship with Draco just weeks earlier—the strain she knew was lying dormant, just waiting for another stressor to rise back to the surface.

But now was not the time to focus on what troubles the future might hold. Now was the time to focus on her family and on school.

Outside of small moments of joy centering around her life with Shiloh and Draco, returning to Hogwarts had felt like a bit of a chore. The new term had started with the usual sluggishness that accompanied the post-holiday haze. Christmas cheer was gone; dark mornings and early sunsets took its place, rolling through the castle with a depressing quality. For Hermione, that meant one thing: it was time to get serious about studying for NEWTs.

Her much-beloved colour-coded study time table had made its return, though she was the only one who was using one this time. She had offered to draw one up for Draco.

And Ginny.

And Neville.

Even Luna.

But all of them, even her boyfriend, declined.

So Hermione was often left to study by herself, which honestly suited her just fine. She needed something to fill the wee hours of the morning when the castle was still quiet and the sun had only begun the faintest glimmer of peeping above the mountains in the distance.

Although Shiloh now regularly slept through the night, Hermione still hadn't gotten out of the habit of waking up before sunrise. These days, she rose without an alarm, padding silently across the bedroom while Draco continued to breathe evenly beneath layers of blankets. Hermione kept her school bag slung over the back of one of their kitchen chairs, and she spent the first hour of every day sitting at the table, immersed in work, sipping away at a steaming mug of coffee.

It wasn't just schoolwork that occupied her mind during this time. These quiet hours were perfect for quiet contemplation. Hermione was able to take a step back and really think about the turn her life had taken during the last year. It was in these hours of semi-darkness that others might have considered bleak or simply far too early that her brain seemed to work best. The darkness seemed to provide the right kind of backdrop for considering the sorts of things her mind didn't dare touch during the daylight.

She had experienced so much darkness and difficulty in her short life, and she couldn't help the pain that floated to the surface when the world around her remained motionless. Facing the war while pregnant had only been the bubbles atop a simmering cauldron of so many disparaging moments. Hermione had lost so many and had come close to losing many more. She had faced rejection from parents and had nearly lost her boyfriend to Azkaban.

And even when she had Draco in her arms, he sometimes felt far away.

Hermione had thought that the end of the war would bring closure and peace of mind, but reality was raw and ugly.

Quiet mornings, she found, were also excellent opportunities for a good cry when the pain overwhelmed her. There were plenty of tear stains on her study schedule to prove it.

Thankfully—_blessedly_, her thoughts didn't always drift to a dark place.

On very lucky, rare days, they drifted somewhere that made her smile.

On this particular morning in late January, the corners of Hermione's lips turned upward as she remembered the night before, when Shiloh had crawled for the first time.

Draco had been so excited. He hadn't stopped babbling about it long after he had scooped Shiloh up in his arms and peppered her chubby cheeks with kisses. He hadn't stopped even after they had placed her in her cot for the night and climbed into bed themselves.

"She's just growing so fast," he gushed as he stretched out beside her, moonlight shining in a stripe across his torso. Draco turned his head, strands of blond fringe falling in his eyes. He swept them away, his loving gaze never breaking from hers. "It'll be her birthday before we know it."

Draco leaned over and kissed her forehead before rolling on his back.

Hermione hummed. She wasn't sure she liked lingering on Shiloh's birthday.

It meant their daughter was getting bigger, yes. But it was more than that.

It meant that a whole year had passed since she had seen so many. Fred. Lupin. Tonks.

Celebrating didn't seem quite right with so much to mourn. When she voiced these anxieties to Draco as they laid side by side, he didn't seem nearly as concerned.

"I don't want to dwell on the past." Draco yawned and curled around her body. "I want us to move forward as a family. Make new memories. Enjoy our daughter's birthday."

He had reached for her hand under the blankets and given it a squeeze.

"We can't live a life in mourning forever, love."

Between memories of Shiloh crawling and the realization that her new mobility meant they needed to baby-proof their flat, Hermione continued to mull over Draco's words as she studied through sunrise. She kept thinking long after Shiloh woke and Draco headed to Charms.

The world outside the window grew lighter, though still covered in clouds. Hermione eventually put her books away and focused her energy on Shiloh. She trailed just behind the very curious baby, who was confidently exploring the kitchen on her hands and knees, counting down the minutes until Draco would return from class. He had just recovered from a rather nasty cold that prevented him from taking baby duty for four days, and Hermione was desperately looking forward to a few child-free hours. She had to brew a new batch of contraceptive potion and study for a while. Perhaps if she was feeling extra ambitions, she might even take a nap.

Shiloh reached for the handles on the kitchen cabinets, a mischievous gleam in her eyes.

"Baby-proofing. Sooner rather than later," Hermione muttered as she hastily scooped Shiloh away.

At nine months, Shiloh's little personality was really showing through, and while she continued to be a lovely, sweet baby, she definitely had a naughty side.

She was truly her father's daughter.

Hermione set Shiloh down away from the cabinets and walked two feet behind her as she happily made her way toward the nursery.

Her thoughts quickly drifted back to the dilemma of Shiloh's upcoming birthday. It would be here before they knew it, in less than four months.

The truth was that she did want to find a way to mark the occasion. _Celebrate_ seemed kind of a strange word to use, given the gravitas of the date, but she did want to find a way to acknowledge her daughter's birth.

Could they do it in a way that wouldn't detract from the gravity of the day? Could they have a party? Would that be tactless? Or would it be considered a welcome distraction?

As these thoughts swirled about in her mind, Shiloh reached her favourite stuffed dragon and fell into it, mouth first, to suck on its snout.

Watching her daughter chew on her best friend, an odd thought crossed Hermione's mind—one she hadn't considered before.

It wouldn't just be Shiloh's first birthday affected by the anniversary of the battle. It would be her second birthday, too. And her fifth. And her eleventh… her seventeenth.

Every birthday her daughter would ever have would coincide with the same, tragic date.

The thought of facing this conflict every year left Hermione's chest heavy.

Could they live like this every year? Afraid to lift their daughter up to avoid grief's cumbersome weight?

It seemed like a lot to carry around forever.

Just as her thoughts began to weigh her down, Draco's words floated through her mind. "_We can't live a life in mourning forever, love."_

Hermione shook her head as if to fling the compounding worries from her mind. Perhaps she should discuss this with Draco some more before she got too in her head.

Hermione re-focused on her daughter in an attempt to push her worries away. Her eyes ended up settling on the back of Shiloh's head. Draco had been convinced that their daughter would have the signature Malfoy blond locks. "All Malfoys do," he had explained so matter-of-factly all those months ago in Shell Cottage.

With each passing day, it became increasingly clear that her hair was a beautiful shade of chestnut brown. And despite Draco's hopes that Shiloh had curls like her mother, she had yet to grow a single curly strand. It all stood pin-straight on her head.

This little girl was such a curious mix between her and Draco.

As Hermione smiled wistfully at her daughter, Shiloh suddenly departed from her dragon friend and veered instead down the hallway. Hermione followed, keeping a watchful eye. Shiloh half-crawled, half-scooted until she reached the bathroom. She entered and sat on the plush little rug in front of the sink for a moment before she reached out. Hands outstretched, she clearly had a target in mind: the cabinet under the sink.

The very same cabinet where several cleaning potions were stored.

One of the many cabinets that Hermione had intended to babyproof.

Shiloh's little first wrapped around the cabinet handle, and Hermione immediately dove into action. She took a giant step forward and bent down to snatch Shiloh up and away. But just as she scooped the little girl into her arms and opened her mouth to gently say, "_No, no darling,"_ she felt everything around her shift.

The words never left her mouth.

Instead, a sharp cry left her lips as the world tilted on its axis. Head spinning, her center of gravity shifting suddenly and violently, Hermione sunk down, her knees cracking against the hard bathroom floor.

She was swimming in a sea of physical uncertainty, unsure what was up or down or even where she was anymore. Her stomach began to rebel, churning dangerously as the world continued to spin around her.

Hermione fought to breathe through the episode as she searched for something solid to hold onto. A physical object. A thought. Anything.

Through her hazy, spotty vision and swimming mind, she managed to anchor onto a single objective: _Do not drop Shiloh. Keep her tucked away safely._

Tears streamed down her face from the smarting pain in her knees. Hermione fought to control her breathing as the dizziness began to ebb. It took a few more moments before her head began to feel like her own. She began to recognize the weight of her daughter in her arms and the hum of the air around her.

Peeling her eyes open, she took another labored breath before allowing herself to collapse fully onto the floor, stretching her legs out in front of her as she leaned back against the sink. Hermione cradled Shiloh securely on her lap as she did her best to focus on breathing.

In. Out. In again. Out again.

When cool air flooded her lungs and oxygen rushed back to her brain once more, she felt every muscle in her body relax.

_What had just happened?_

She had been dizzy before, but this was something different. Something far deeper—far more terrifying. It was almost as if her body hadn't been her own for that moment. As though it had betrayed her.

Could it have been fatigue? Weeks ago, when Shiloh was in the midst of her sleep regression, that would have been the definite answer. She had hardly been able to tell her left from her right for a while.

Fatigue was possible, but—

Hermione willed herself to focus on the last few nights. She and Draco had gone to sleep together, some nights falling asleep quickly, other nights tangling together in the sheets before collapsing side by side and drifting off.

But she had slept soundly. And Shiloh had been sleeping through the night for the last two weeks…

So it couldn't be fatigue.

Then _what?_

Hermione growled in frustration as Shiloh shifted in her arms, clearly trying to wiggle free, unaware of her mother's episode.

When she was sure her breathing had steadied and the dizziness had completely subsided, Hermione adjusted Shiloh in her arms and prepared to stand.

Perhaps if she simply stood slowly, she could avoid another dizzy spell.

Bracing her arm on the sink, she prepared to put weight on her knees. But as she did, another wave of dizziness overtook her and she collapsed back onto the floor with a yelp.

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, willing the woozy feeling in her brain to go away.

What was happening? Was she sick? Draco had been ill recently, but _he_ hadn't collapsed. Still, being sick seemed the most logical explanation. She shouldn't jump to any conclusions.

It was a cold. Just a cold. It had to be.

It couldn't be something more dire.

Her thoughts drifted back to the memory of a ransacked flat—to threatening words and an impending sense of danger.

No. No, there was no way. She was fine. It was just a cold. Simple as that. She had finally convinced Draco to calm his paranoia.

It had to be a cold.

Though… perhaps she should go see Madam Pomfrey. What with a baby and all. She wouldn't want to pass it along in case it was contagious. She definitely should go to the Hospital Wing. Just to be sure.

But the thought of standing up made her stomach clench with dread at the prospect of more vertigo.

After taking several minutes of deep breaths while attempting to restrain an incredibly antsy Shiloh, Hermione managed to get to her feet and hobble into the bedroom. Once she was sitting on the mattress, she summoned a portable cot and placed it at her bedside before pulling herself up the bed and onto her plush pillow.

The world was still spinning slightly, but she took comfort knowing that at the very least, she wouldn't fall again. Exhaustion hit her out of nowhere like a bludger, and her heavy eyelids drifted close of their own accord. The last thing she heard as she drifted off were the sounds of Shiloh's coos, just out of her reach in the cot.

Draco trudged up the steps to the Eighth Year dorms, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Professor Sprout had placed a warming charm over the green houses that morning to fight the winter chill, and it seemed she overdid it a bit. Draco spent the last hour fighting off sleep as the heat seeped into his pores, luring him into a stupor.

He shook his head as he opened the portrait door in a feeble attempt to wake himself up. Hermione was likely eagerly awaiting his arrival back from class and he needed to be sharp, because within a couple minutes, Shiloh would be his responsibility for the afternoon.

He just prayed to the powers that be that Shiloh would go down for a nice long nap after lunch.

Maybe then, he would be able to focus for a bit on what he wanted to do for Hermione for Valentine's Day. He was hoping to bribe one of their single friends or even McGonagall to take Shiloh for the day so he could take Hermione on one of their rare proper dates. A stroll around the grounds. Madam Puddifoot's, perhaps. If he played his cards right, perhaps he could even arrange for a stay at a nice hotel in the Alley for the night. Even a room in The Three Broomsticks would be passable.

_That_ thought, more than any other, put a bit of a pep in his step as he crossed the nearly-sparse common room. Its only inhabitants were a group of Hufflepuffs, chummy as always.

Shaking off their over-friendliness, he reached the door to his and Hermione's little flat and pushed it open.

Immediately, Draco knew something was wrong.

It was quiet—too quiet. The air around him hummed like a foreboding whisper. Space that was normally filled with Shiloh's coos and Hermione's bustling footsteps or the furious scratching of a quill now felt like a vacuum. It was as though all the life had been sucked out of this place, leaving it gaunt and empty.

Panic welled inside of him, his heart hammering a tattoo against his ribs and a cold sweat breaking out all over.

A thousand what-if scenarios flashed in his mind as he tried to repress the incoming wave of fear and anxiety. He had successfully tamped down those emotions for the last several weeks, attempting to blame his worries on paranoia alone.

But now it all came roaring back as he stood, frozen, in the kitchen of their little flat.

Something was wrong.

All thoughts of sleepiness or Valentine's Day planning vanished and were replaced with the immediate need to find his girlfriend and daughter—his _family_.

Draco had tunnel vision as he raced to the nursery, lungs burning and palms sweating. His heart sank when he found the room empty. He braced himself as he poked his head into their bedroom, preparing to be hit with another wave of fear, and anxiety.

Instead, he felt every muscle in his body relax, if only for a moment, when he saw Hermione lying fast asleep on their bed. Shiloh was also slumped over, her little chest rising and falling steadily as she napped in her portable cot.

Draco swore internally as he took in the scene before him. Nothing had happened to his girls. They were here, safe and sound. It was just like Hermione had told him, weeks ago.

He was just being paranoid.

Sighing, he moved across the room, setting his school bag beside the bed before sinking onto the mattress next to Hermione. Reaching out with still-shaking hands, he swept a curl from her face and rubbed her back gently.

"Hermione, love. Time to get up," he coaxed in a voice barely above a whisper. His voice wavered, too.

After three more attempts to rouse her, she finally groaned, bringing her palms to her eyes.

"Ugh, what time is it?" she said thickly as she pressed her face into a pillow.

"Nearly lunch time. How was your morning?"

Instead of responding, Hermione groaned again, squeezing her eyes shut.

A spark of worry flicked to life within him once more.

"Hermione? Are you—are you okay?"

A knot in his stomach twisted to life as her head barely moved side to side.

His heart fell to his feet, his fingers going numb.

"What's wrong?" The worry that had left began to invade once more. Leaning close he placed a hand on her shoulder. "What happened?"

Draco watched as Hermione furrowed her brow, her throat bobbing as she struggled to speak.

"Dizzy," she finally managed, the words slightly garbled. "Dizzy. I fell down. Everything's… spinning."

"Why didn't you go to Pomfrey?" he asked, running a hand through her curls.

"Too dizzy. Can't walk."

Her voice was so weak that it made Draco's heart clench. The last time he had seen her in a state even close to this was when she had given birth. And before that, during the aftermath of her torture at the hands of his aunt.

The very thought that she was suffering again made him want to sob. But sobbing wouldn't do very much, would it? He felt a resolve fill his body. It steeled his crumbling spirit. It propelled him forward, helping him to take charge.

"I'm going to send for Madam Pomfrey via Floo," he said, pulling himself to his feet. "Don't move. I'll be back soon."

It was as though all his worst fears were coming to light. Someone had finally gotten to them. Gotten to Hermione. And he hadn't been here to stop it.

Tearing across the room, he ripped open the door to their little flat, took the stairs three at a time, and lobbed a pinch of green powder into the grate.

"Oi—!" he vaguely registered MacMillan's protests as his body came between the group of Hufflepuffs and the warmth of the fire.

"Emergency!" he managed to bite out before sticking his head into the green flames and yelling, "Hogwarts Hospital Wing!"

His head spun for a moment before the familiar sight of dozens of beds came into view. The Hogwarts matron was bustling around the beds, waving her wand to straighten the sheets and blankets.

He called out to her, and she spun around immediately, her eyebrows raised in alarm.

"What on earth is going on, Mr. Malfoy? Is it Shiloh?"

Draco tried to gulp down air to calm himself, but found his mouth full of ash. He coughed.

"It's not—" he began, spluttering. "It's Hermione. She's—something's not right."

He watched as Madam Pomfrey's lips pursed, her brow furrowed with worry.

"I'm coming through," she said, tucking her wand into her sleeve.

Within seconds, the Hogwarts Matron stepped into the Eighth Year common room, dusting ash and soot off her pristine skirt. Draco showed her the way back upstairs, taking in the Hufflepuffs' confused but interested expressions as they passed.

Hermione hadn't moved a muscle in his absence. She was breathing deeply now, as if to steady herself, her body curled atop the blankets. Draco was at her side immediately, whispering soft words in her ear and tucking that same curl strand behind her ear.

"It's all right, love. Madam Pomfrey's here. She'll take care of you."

Hermione gave the smallest of nods and Draco backed away, letting the healer take over. He paced back and forth as Madam Pomfrey cast a temperature-taking spell, as well as a heartbeat monitoring spell.

"There doesn't seem to be anything in particular wrong, Miss Granger," she said after a minute. "But I can dose you with a small vial of Pepper-Up. There have been some nasty colds floating around the castle, and we shouldn't take chances."

"What about the dizziness?" piped up Draco, knowing that Hermione would ask if she had the strength. "She said she was dizzy."

Madam Pomfrey nodded. "Low blood pressure and low blood sugar. I will send a house elf up with a tray immediately." She turned to Hermione, who was lying, bleary-eyed in bed. Draco could see her trying and failing to focus. "You need to rest, but once you've eaten and taken Pepper-Up, you should feel much better, dear."

Hermione nodded slightly, holding her hand out to accept the vial Madam Pomfrey pulled out of her healer's bag. She shook slightly as she gulped it down, but immediately sighed and slumped against her pillow.

"Better?" Madam Pomfrey asked, taking back the vial.

"Much," Hermione croaked, breathing deeply through her nose.

Shiloh chose that exact moment to start whining from her portable cot. Draco swooped down and picked her up, arranging her on his hip.

"Don't even think about it," he added as he watched Hermione move to get up. "You stay in bed in rest. I'll let Professor McGonagall know that you need the day off."

Hermione pouted, but didn't protest further.

After thanking Madam Pomfrey, Draco walked her to the door with Shiloh still in his arms before returning to the bedroom to tuck Hermione in. A House Elf had appeared in his absence and was sliding a tray of broth, toast, and juice onto the bedside table.

"Erm, thank you," he muttered, immediately feeling like a bit of an idiot as the words crossed his lips.

The little elf squeaked, bowed, and disappeared with a pop.

Even through the haze of her sickness, Hermione managed a weak smile.

Draco woke up at the crack of dawn the next day to care for Shiloh, letting his girlfriend have a lie-in instead of having to wake up with their daughter. He pressed a soft kiss onto Hermione's forehead before he groggily pulled on his uniform and fetched a very-awake baby from the nursery. Shiloh was bouncing on her knees in her cot, babbling nonsense. Her babbling grew louder as Draco drew close and picked her up.

"Come on, pixie. Let's get you changed and dressed. Your Auntie Luna is watching you today."

Shiloh cooed in response.

"Exactly." He nodded, pulling a tiny purple jumper and leggings from the dresser in the corner. "And I need you to be on your best behavior this morning," he added for good measure as he laid Shiloh onto her changing table. "I don't want Lovegood trying anything strange to get you to stop crying."

Shiloh chewed on her fingers.

"Good girl."

Draco's thoughts lingered on his daughter and girlfriend all through his potions lesson, and he accidentally added too much gurdyroot to his love potion antidote. Despite Draco's protests that he had to retrieve his daughter, Professor Slughorn made him clean the resulting sludge from the table before he could leave.

He spent nearly twenty minutes scrubbing the surface by hand, as Slughorn did not believe in the effectiveness of a proper _evanesco_, a string of curses spilling from his mouth in whispers. The moment Professor Slughorn released him, he tore past rows of empty cauldrons and into the corridor before sprinting up to the Great Hall.

Thankfully, Shiloh looked entirely normal as Luna bounced her on her knee. The little girl had mashed carrots all down the front of her purple jumper and smeared over her face and hair, which Draco vanished with a quick, "Scourgify."

Once he had managed to shove a sandwich and an apple in his mouth, he climbed the steps to the fifth floor to check on Hermione. She was sitting up in bed, reading a textbook with a mug of tea in her hand. When Draco entered with Shiloh in his arms, she looked up, a tired smile spreading across her face.

Standing in the doorway, he took in her appearance—bags under her eyes, hair a frizzy mess, face pale and a bit gaunt—and worry tugged at his stomach. She certainly looked better than yesterday, but it seemed that the Pepper Up hadn't been a perfect cure.

"Still feeling under the weather?" He stepped into their room.

"Mmm. A bit."

"Want me to get Madam Pomfrey? Maybe she can try something else."

Hermione shook her head a fraction of an inch, her eyes straying from his. "That's okay. I think with a little more rest I'll feel okay."

Draco sighed, shifting Shiloh in his arms. Yesterday, Hermione had requested that he not let Shiloh too close in case she caught whatever this bug was.

Even though Draco held a faint suspicion of foul play, the last thing they both needed was a sick baby. Shiloh wiggled in his arms, clearly itching to crawl around. Climbing on Mummy might have been off-limits, but the rest of the room wasn't.

"Still, the Pepper Up should have worked," he insisted, as he bent low and set Shiloh down on the rug. "It worked for me a couple weeks ago when I had a cold."

"I'm not sure." Hermione shrugged, lifting her eyes from her book to find his again almost reluctantly. "Maybe when you're a healer you can invent a cure for whatever this is."

Draco couldn't help the tug of his lips when Hermione praised him like this—stating his dreams aloud as though she could speak them into being.

"Yeah?" He flashed his teeth in a shy smile.

"If anyone can, it would absolutely be you." Hermione returned the upturn of her lips before glancing down at Shiloh, who had crawled to a plush niffler. "Did she have a good morning with Luna?"

"I think so. Nothing seems out of place."

Hermione chuckled. "Oh good. I know you worry."

"I do."

He paused for a moment as Hermione took a sip of her tea.

"You sure you don't need anything?" he asked, folding his arms over his chest. He felt a bit helpless, seeing as Hermione wasn't responding to potions. But if he could reattach her placenta in the midst of a battle, he could certainly do _something_. "Another cuppa? Maybe some crackers?"

She shook her head again. "No thank you. I'm fine… _really_. Still a bit dizzy and nauseous around the edges, but the toast really helps." She lifted her hand from her lap to gesture to the plate not too far from where she sat.

"Then I'll get you as much toast as you need. In the meantime, I'll just take Shiloh to the common room so you can rest."

"Thank you," Hermione whispered, reaching out for his hand. "Love you."

"Love you, too. Squeeze your pebble if you need anything?"

"I will."

Draco picked up Shiloh and arranged her in his arms so she could see Hermione blow her a kiss before they left. After shutting the door to the bedroom, Draco shifted Shiloh in his arms again. "Well, pixie. It's just you and me again. What do you say we work on your first word? Make Mummy smile?"

Shiloh shrieked in response.

Draco set to work with Shiloh as soon as they walked down to the common room. He ignored a chattering group of students, choosing the far corner of the room as their destination. Settling on the floor, he made sure Shiloh was sitting stably beside him before he pointed to himself and said with as much enthusiasm as he could muster, "_Dada."_

Shiloh smacked her lips.

"Dada," he repeated, leaning close and taking her tiny hands in his. "Dada, Shiloh. Say 'Dada'."

She shrieked again.

"What are you doing, Malfoy?" came a female voice from the couch. He whipped his head around to see that the chattering group had gone silent and were watching him. The inquisitor was Susan Bones.

When he didn't respond at first, she pressed him gently. "Is she close to speaking?"

"Erm, I'm not really sure. She talks a lot...erm, well it's not really talking. It's more…"

"Babbling?" Susan suggested. "I've heard her when you're carrying her in and out and that's what it sounds like to me."

Draco frowned a bit as he took in the sight of everyone staring at him—Susan, Neville's girlfriend Hannah, MacMillan, Finch-Fletchley, a couple others whose names he had never bothered to learn. The back of his throat grew tight, but he quickly pushed it down.

These were just a bunch of Hufflepuffs. What were they going to do?

"Babbling? Does that mean she's ready to talk?" he asked, grabbing Shiloh under the armpits and helping her bounce on the carpet.

"Nearly," Susan insisted. "It means she's trying. Just keep encouraging her. If she thinks you like it when she tries to talk, she'll talk more."

"Careful though," piped up Finch-Fletchley. "Encourage it too much and you'll end up with a chatterbox like Hermione on your hands."

Years ago, Draco would have snickered at that comment. Perhaps even added his own insult to the mix. Something about how Granger never shut up.

But in actuality, imagining long, involved conversations with Shiloh—or even incessant questions about everything—sounded wonderful. And that was a quality he hoped she would inherit from her mother.

"I wouldn't mind if she's a chatterbox." Draco turned back to Shiloh, who continued to bounce. "I'd like it if she talks as much as Hermione."

The Hufflepuff girls made their way over to his corner, and with only a little reluctance, he allowed them to play with Shiloh for a while. They all took turns repeating the same word over and over, trying to get her to speak.

Shiloh, for the most part, just looked up at them and shook her snitch-shaped rattle, clearly enjoying all the attention.

After a bit, the common room began to clear out as some people, including Finch-Fletchley, Abbot, and MacMillan headed to their afternoon classes. Susan insisted she had no classes, leaving them alone in the common room, save for a figure in the opposite corner with his head obfuscated behind a thick book.

But Draco didn't have to see his face to know who it was. Blaise Zabini had always sat the same way in armchairs, his legs crossed stiffly, his posture leaning to the left in an arrogant sort of way. Draco supposed—though he didn't like to linger on it—that he sat like that sometimes, too.

A couple times, he had glanced up to see Blaise peering over the top of his book, his eyes narrowed in… was that suspicion? Anger? Disgust?

Draco couldn't quite tell, but whatever his former friend was thinking, it sent a chill up his spine as he watched Blaise close his book and walk stiffly upstairs to the dormitories.

Susan looked up at the movement, her eyes flicking to Blaise's retreating figure.

"Not that Zabini has ever been pleasant, but have you noticed that he's been especially… surly this year?"

Draco shifted. He had to be careful. He still suspected that it was Blaise behind everything going on with his family. The situation was just delicate enough that he couldn't go around flaunting his suspicions.

"Oh. Yeah, I guess."

"I mean, it's understandable. What with that mess with his family."

Draco frowned. "Mess with…?"

"His family, yeah." Susan tapped the rattle on the ground to get Shiloh to crawl over to her. "I'm surprised you didn't hear. The Ministry raided his home over the summer. Interrogated him and his mother and ransacked the place. I don't know if they found anything, though. Probably not, considering he's here, but still…"

Draco blinked as he tried to process this new information. Blaise had been interrogated over the summer? But the Zabinis were famously neutral in matters of war. Sure, they were blood purists until the end, but they never actively supported the Dark Lord—not even financially. They mostly just ran away to their estate in Italy. Everyone knew that.

Was _that_ why Blaise was acting so strangely? Yes, such a thing would make him surly, but why did that make him want to threaten Draco?

He had to connect the dots… figure out what was going on.

But not now.

Draco tried to shove all his negative thoughts aside as he watched Susan continue to try and coax a first word from Shiloh.

"Dada," she tried valiantly after forty or so attempts.

Shiloh shrieked once more, shoving her fingers in her mouth.

Draco chuckled. His daughter was certainly stubborn, if nothing else. Yes another trait inherited from her mother—though Hermione might disagree.

"You know, I just don't think she's quite there yet," Susan said after a few more tries. "Maybe she'll do better when Hermione's here, too."

Draco glanced at the staircase that led up to where his girlfriend was sick in bed. "Yeah, maybe it'd be best if she held off until Hermione's feeling better."

Just thinking of her episode yesterday made his stomach roil with worry. He heaved a sigh and scooped Shiloh into his arms. She placed a drool-covered hand on his face as she leaned into him, and Susan looked like she was hiding chortles behind her hands as he wiped the slimy stuff from his cheek.

If he had ever once had a reputation for being intimidating or sophisticated or even cool, that image was now officially gone.

And honestly, he still wasn't sure how he felt about that.

Claiming the need to check on Hermione, Draco said his goodbyes and headed back up the stairs, the same way Zabini had gone a while before. Shiloh was beginning to fuss in his arms, squirming and rubbing her eyes, showing all the signs that she needed to go down for a nap.

He made his way to their little flat, but from the moment he stepped inside, all the hair on the back of his neck stood up. His throat tightened. His spine stiffened. Like yesterday, he couldn't shake the feeling that it was too quiet. That if he didn't act quickly, something would go terribly, terribly wrong.

Not wanting to expose his daughter to whatever might be wrong with Hermione, he rushed to the nursery and placed Shiloh unceremoniously in her cot. The little girl yawned as he retreated back to the bedroom.

He expected to see Hermione in bed, writhing with pain or perhaps delirious with fever. Or his instincts could have been wrong, and she would be sitting up in bed, reading a book.

_Please be okay. Please, please, please be okay._

A panic identical to yesterday's began to ring in his ears with each step he took toward the closed bedroom door. His hand closed around the cool metal doorknob as he entered, bracing himself for whatever awaited him.

And then… but where was Hermione?

The bed was empty, covers tangled and askew and pillows lumpy.

Draco stepped inside, as if in a stupor, his limbs suddenly heavy as rocks.

Where was she?

He reached out and ran his fingertips over the white sheets. They weren't exactly warm, but they weren't cold, either. Hermione hadn't been gone that long, then?

Had she left? Been taken?

Draco's hands suddenly began to shake and the air filling his lungs just didn't seem to be quite enough. He gulped. His chest began to burn.

Dark possibilities took the place of the innocent ones as he felt the walls close in on him.

And then, from outside the room, he heard an odd sort of tapping noise.

His heart stuttered to a near-stop.

Draco tore through the empty bedroom as the tapping sound grew louder. He turned left into the nursery and immediately saw the source of the tapping noise.

An owl.

An owl at Shiloh's nursery window.

Draco glanced at the cot, where Shiloh was drifting off, blissfully unaware of her dad's panicked state. Steeling himself, crossed the room, looked over his shoulder at her one more time, and opened the window.

The owl immediately hopped inside, perching itself on the back of the rocking chair. When the chair began to move, the owl hooted indignantly and swooped down onto the railing of the cot, ruffling its feathers.

Draco's eyes immediately found the note attached to its leg. He detached it with shaky fingers, fumbling as he tried to unfold it.

The air in his lungs just wasn't enough.

Where was Hermione?

Did this note have anything to do with her?

Eventually, he managed to separate the folds, spreading the page out layer by layer until the parchment lay stretched out in his hands.

All the air left his lungs.

_Stay out of the common room. You and that little mongrel disgust me._

He couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.

The threats—they were back.

Hermione was missing and someone was threatening them again.

He wanted to scream—to throw up—to panic like he had when McGonagall had caught him trying to escape the castle a year and a half ago. His heart hammered in his chest, terror filling every inch of his body. He tried to grab onto the rail of the cot, but his sweaty hand slipped.

It was all falling apart.

Everything.

The whole life he had built with Hermione.

Gone.

His knees buckled under him and he sank to the floor beside the cot, knees to his chest. His whole body shook as he tried to take breath after breath, never quite feeling like it was enough—that he was enough.

He had failed to protect Hermione—to protect his little family.

And for that, he would never forgive himself.

When his shaking subsided, he remained unmoved on the nursery floor in a daze as the cold wind from the open window washed over him. The owl had alighted long ago, but the note it delivered lay open and menacing on the floor.

He wanted to burn the thing.

Draco closed his eyes, willing everything to be okay. This had to be a nightmare. Things had just been fine, hadn't they? He had been sitting around with those Hufflepuffs, trying to get Shiloh to talk, and all the while, something—someone had gotten to Hermione.

And all that was left of her was silence.

Except—

From just outside the nursery, Draco heard something that was definitely not silence.

It was… sniffing?

Heart leaping in his throat, Draco jumped to his feet and moved ever so cautiously, step by step, toward the source of the sniffing.

It was then that he noticed it.

The light in the crack under the bathroom door.

Barely able to breathe—not daring to hope, he inched closer.

Another sniff.

He knew that sniff.

Had seen Hermione cry enough times…

"Hermione?" he called out gently—weakly—hopefully.

Silence.

The door swung open.

Draco felt warmth flood his whole body as his girlfriend appeared on the other side. He rushed forward, enveloping her in his arms. The way her hair tickled his face—the way she smelled—the softness of her skin—it was everything he needed, now, and always.

And for half a moment, he forgot everything else.

"Oh Merlin, Hermione," he whispered into her hair. "I feel like such an idiot. I thought—somehow I thought you'd disappeared. Or been taken. And I—Hermione?"

He pulled back when he felt something wet on his neck.

Hermione didn't look… right. And it wasn't the tear streaks lining her face or the flush in her cheeks.

There was a look about her—a gaunt worry in her eyes that he hadn't seen in months. Not since the battle.

"Hermione?" he breathed, praying that his instincts were wrong.

She looked up at him, eyes wide and searching. She seemed lost or scared or something, and he tried to tell her with his own eyes that it was going to be okay—whatever it was—sickness, threats, whatever—that he would be there for her.

She swallowed, licked her lips, and spoke only two words.

"I—I'm pregnant."

* * *

**IF YOU DON'T HAVE TRIGGERS SURROUNDING PREGNANCY, PLEASE DON'T READ THE FOLLOWING PARAGRAPH.**

**In this chapter, it is introduced that there is another accidental pregnancy between Hermione and Draco. This pregnancy, however, does not have a happy ending. If you are triggered by miscarriage or intense arguments in relationships, then the next few chapters may not be for you. I understand some readers have trouble reading about pregnancy even if it doesn't end well, and I wanted to give you a thorough warning. That being said, this story is HEA. If you have any further questions, please feel free to PM me on tumblr. **

**Please don't throw tomatoes at me! **


	13. Chapter 13

**Well, some of you wanted to throw tomatoes. One of you offered to jar them up for me in a nice sauce. **

**Still, it seems I caught most of you by surprise. These two are facing some tough times ahead, but I promise, this story is HEA. **

**Big thanks to MsMerlin and Graceful Lioness.**

**TW for this chapter: Discussions surrounding a difficult and unexpected pregnancy; arguments**

* * *

It had taken all her courage to cast the charm. Of course, she had looked up the proper incantation and wand movements as soon as she was able in the aftermath of the war. But never had Hermione imagined she would need it so soon.

There were some problems that, if just ignored, would go away on their own. Acne, for example. Or bullying. Usually.

Hermione knew that her particular _problem_—if she were to frame it as a problem, wasn't likely to simply _go away_. Especially not on its own. No, problems like hers, if left to their own devices, led to a definite and singular conclusion.

There was proof of that just downstairs with Draco, crawling and drooling everywhere.

From the moment Hermione suspected she was pregnant for the second time in eighteen months, a heavy dread had pooled in her stomach, rendering her unable to move. The fear paralyzed her body entirely, though that didn't stop her mind from racing uncontrollably.

Pregnant? Again? But _how?_

She and Draco had been so careful. Well, _she_ had been the careful one, always sure to take the contraceptive potion she brewed herself on a well-timed schedule.

It seemed impossible. Wrong. Just a flight of anxiety.

_Surely_, that's all it was.

The lingering lightheadedness that wouldn't dissipate could have been anything. Just a bad head cold, maybe an ear infection, or it could have been a subtle potions-based attack from the person who had been threatening them. Or, and she shuddered to think of this, lingering effects of the Cruciatus curse.

Pregnancy had only been a passing thought. One she, truthfully, hadn't bothered to linger on.

After all, they'd been careful… or so she'd assumed.

It wasn't until a house elf brought a bowl of mushroom soup up to her room for lunch.

From the moment she smelled the earthy and pungent smell of the soup, violent nausea rose in her throat, and she scrambled from bed, barely making it across the hall to the toilet before retching into the bowl.

Shaky and flushed, she laid on the floor in the aftermath of the episode, her warm cheeks pressed into the cool tile. Feeling like death warmed over, she didn't dare move for fear of nausea overtaking her again.

Instead, she stayed still and tried to think of the cause of her sudden illness.

It didn't take very long.

Smell was, after all, one of the most powerful catalysts for memory. And Hermione only had one other strong memory involving the food she normally found completely innocuous.

She often tried to shut out memories from her time on the run—all those miserable months when she had constantly feared for her life, for her friends' lives, and for the burgeoning life inside of her. Living in that tent had been hell, and from the instant her mind made the connection, nausea rose up in her anew.

She sat up and vomited into the bowl again, though this time, very little came up aside from yellow bile.

The smell of mushrooms had only affected her this way once before.

And that had been because she was—

_No. _

Absolutely not.

She couldn't be.

Hermione felt a cold chill run through her entire body as all the air left her lungs. But before she had time to begin to process her conundrum, she heard the telltale signs of the locking charms on their front door being lifted.

_Bugger. _Draco was back.

He couldn't find her like this, panicked on the bathroom floor, convinced that she might be—

Shame burned in her cheeks as she couldn't even bring herself to think the word.

It was a ridiculous notion. That if she didn't think the word, it simply wouldn't come to pass. But Hermione wasn't that foolish.

Or maybe she was—or perhaps just wanted to be.

Hermione dove across the hall and into bed just in time. Draco was so sweet as they spoke, and she felt the beginnings of gnawing guilt as she reassured him that she was on the mend. She knew how hopeless she must have looked, pale and sweating. But she was still able to shoo him away gently within a few minutes.

The moment she heard the door to their little flat click shut, she flung the covers away and made her way to their bookshelf, bending to the waist-level shelf. It was where she and Draco kept all their pregnancy and parenting related books.

Hermione ran her fingers across the spines, searching for a specific title. It wasn't one of the more dog-eared ones, nearly worn to tissue from the wear and tear of months in her beaded bag. No, those had all been non-magical pregnancy books. `

What she needed was a spell. It was a spell she had learned by heart. But she needed to be _sure_. One hundred percent sure.

She took the correct title, _Magical Pregnancy and You_, along with her wand and crossed back into the bathroom. Shutting and locking the door in case Draco made another sudden reappearance, she sat on the lid of the toilet and propped the book open on her lap. Her leg bounced as she scanned the index.

Her heart beat a staccato in time with her leg.

This would be it. She couldn't claim ignorance after this. She couldn't just pretend it would go away.

Part of her wished that was an option.

The book was straightforward, and she reviewed its contents quickly and without fuss.

If the mist that covered her abdomen remained pale and silver, she wasn't pregnant. If it shimmered and turned gold, she was.

Summoning her courage, she pointed her wand at herself and said in a clear, if shaky voice, "_Foetus Deprehensio_."

A silver mist shot out of the tip of her wand and hovered over her stomach briefly, swirling and churning.

A momentary hope rose within Hermione.

Maybe it was a fluke. Maybe she was just having a sensitive stomach day. She hadn't had mushroom soup since before Shiloh was born. Maybe she…

The mist, once silver and beautiful turned bright, glittering gold and that morsel of hope vanished.

Hermione's vision went white. She wasn't sure if she fainted, or if she simply blocked out those several minutes from her memory, but when she came to, she was curled up on the floor of the dry shower, tears running down her face uncontrollably and soaking her clothing.

At first, she just let herself cry. She cried for the child inside her that, once again, had not been planned. She cried for her own life, which, time and time again, seemed to be dangling just out of her control. She cried for Draco, who she knew was already burdened enough.

When her tears finally ran dry, she stayed in the empty tub, unable to move.

The dizziness had gone, as had the nausea, and in its place dread grew, toxic and heavy.

She felt as though she were weighted down by lead.

Somewhere from the back of her head, a small voice reasoned that this child would be born under far better circumstances than Shiloh. There was peace, she wasn't living from meal to meal in a tent, and Draco would be at her side the whole time.

Logically, she knew that this child growing inside of her wouldn't bring her and Draco much more hardship than they had already faced. They were already parents to an infant, after all. What were a few more nappies? A few more months of sleep deprivation?

But for once, Hermione just couldn't bring herself to find the logic in any of this.

Instead, she curled deeper into herself in the tub and allowed sobs to take over her body once more.

She wasn't sure how much time had passed before she heard the telltale footsteps of Draco returning. They stopped for a moment in the kitchen and then hurried past the still-closed bathroom door. Heavy footfall trailed up and down the hall a couple times, before finally stopping again.

She didn't hear anything for a few minutes. Draco was probably putting Shiloh down for a nap. Hermione sniffed. It was only a matter of time before she'd have to make an appearance and tell Draco her discovery.

Dread expanded in her lungs once more, but this time she tamped it down with only a couple of loud sniffs.

As she pulled herself to her feet, she heard a tentative, "Hermione?" from out in the hallway.

She took a breath and waved her wand to unlock and open the door.

Hermione barely had a chance to take in Draco's wide, wild eyes and mussed hair before his arms were around her, his face buried in the crook of her neck.

"Oh Merlin, Hermione," he whispered into her hair, the warmth of his breath tickling the skin on her neck. "I feel like such an idiot. I thought—somehow I thought you'd disappeared. Or been taken. And I—Hermione?"

He had pulled back, his eyes searching her own. There was worry in his eyes. Panic, even. It wasn't hard to see.

Briefly—ever so briefly, Hermione wondered what had put him in such a state.

But when he said her name again, she crumbled. She could hardly get the words out without bursting into tears again.

"I—I'm pregnant."

Draco didn't react at first. Not a flinch, nor raise of his brows. He just stood there, eyes continuing to search hers as though he was still waiting for her to answer. As if he hadn't just heard the news that was sure to change not just their lives, but their daughter's as well.

He spoke after what felt like an eternity of silence, his voice cracking and hoarse. "Are you sure?"

She nodded, unblinking as she waited for him to react. To yell, or cry. To snap at her, or berate himself. She expected him to hyperventilate, or break down as she had—though, part of her hoped for calm acceptance. What she needed now, more than anything, was his support.

She was prepared for it all—or so she'd thought. For what she did not expect was outright denial.

"You've got to be joking." He said this with a smirk on his face and the whisper of humor that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Are you taking the mickey out of me?"

Hermione frowned. Her jaw tightened and her body crackled with annoyance. "This isn't a joke, Draco. I really _am_ pregnant. I smelled some mushroom soup and—"

"Smelling something doesn't make you pregnant," he scoffed.

Hermione placed her hands on her hips, jaw working as she tried to reign back in the raising fire inside her. "Draco, do you think I'm daft?"

He snorted, shaking his head. "No, of course not. Why would you say that—?"

"Because that's what you're implying." She plowed ahead, talking as quickly as she could to stop him from interrupting her again. "I got really, _really _sick when I smelled the mushroom soup. The only time mushrooms have ever made me sick before was when I was pregnant with Shiloh. So I did the charm."

By now, all traces of laughter had fallen away from Draco's face. His eyes wide and his lip trembling slightly, he almost looked afraid.

Hermione pulled out her wand and pointed it to her stomach, as she had several long minutes ago. Draco gulped.

"_Foetus Deprehensio!"_

The same silver mist poured from her wand tip to cover her abdomen, turning a brilliant gold within five seconds.

Draco just stared. For only a moment, she saw tears pooling in his eyes, the corner of his lip twitching slightly.

And then he exploded.

Draco tore out of the room, eyes wide and breathing laboured. Hermione barely had time to point her wand at the nursery to mutter, "_Muffliato!_" before he was squatting just outside the bathroom door, covering his face in his hands as a terrible scream erupted from within him.

"FUCK!" he yelled into their silent flat, the sound of his distraught voice echoing around them.

This was _not_ the reaction she had expected. This was not the reaction she _needed_. She didn't need him to be excited. She certainly wasn't. She just needed him to be there—needed him to tell her that it was all going to be okay. That they'd figure this out together.

But somehow, she ended up being the one doing the comforting.

"Draco?" she whispered, her voice shaking. "Draco, are you okay?"

He let out another howl before whipping his wand out again, pointing it at a ceramic bowl on the kitchen table, and yelling, "_Confringo!_"

The bowl shattered, sending sharp pieces scattered around the kitchen.

As he lowered his wand, his shoulders drooped noticeably as his chest continued to heave. Draco squeezed his eyes shut, letting out one long exhale that ended in a soft, desperate sounding, "_Fuck."_

Hermione's stomach soured as she watched him soak in his misery.

If there had been any lingering hope of wanting this baby, it evaporated in that instant.

"How?" he asked after a full minute's silence. "How is this even bloody possible? Aren't you—you on the potion?"

Hermione's arms wrapped around her middle, keeping her eyes trained on the ground. She couldn't look at him—not now, not while she could hear the disdain in his voice. She knew the moment she did look, she would break down and start crying and she couldn't do that again. Not now.

"I—I'm not sure how it happened," she managed, her voice small and shaky. "I am on the potion, though. I take it every month."

"That's bullshit."

Hermione happened to agree. It was bullshit. The potion was supposed to be completely effective. But calling it bullshit wasn't about to make her situation—_their situation_—any less real. And the more she let Draco's words sink in, the more she was filled with righteous, outright indignation.

Bullshit though it was, it felt like he was calling her word bullshit. Not their situation. And that, more than anything, is what made her blood simmer beneath the surface.

She wanted to have a proper discussion about this. A talk where they both laid their full feelings on the line and talked about every option—even the tough ones, and every possible outcome. It's what she had done last time, albeit by herself.

Scared and completely alone in the middle of the wilderness, she had decided to have the baby growing inside of her after weighing all her options.

Was it so wrong to want to do the same thing with Draco now? Even if they decided not to have the baby in the end, she still wanted to discuss this rationally.

That's what she knew how to do, after all. Be rational. It's how she found control. It's how she kept her head when the world around her collapsed.

But Draco wasn't keeping his head. He wasn't even trying to. In Hermione's opinion, he looked rather like their toddler having a tantrum.

That thought in particular, brought her vocal chords back to life.

"It doesn't matter if it's bullshit or not," she managed as her voice surged. "Because it's happened and now we have to figure out what to do."

"_Doesn't matter?_" Draco hissed, standing and throwing his hands in the air. "Of course it matters! That bloody potion of yours was supposed to work! Did you forget to take it?"

Hermione blanched at his accusation. "Are you kidding me? _Of course not!_ I haven't missed a dose since I started taking it this summer."

"Well clearly something happened, because you're fucking pregnant. _Again._" He buried his face in his hands. "Gods, I can't believe this is bloody happening!"

Hermione's hands were balled in fists. Every muscle in her body was tensed as her shoulders pulled back, her neck taut and her lip curled with rage. How _dare _he? He wasn't the one who would have to stretch again… grow day by day until he hardly recognized himself, could hardly sleep or walk… push out a tiny person from the very core of her body.

"Well believe it!" she practically screamed. "It's real! I've got another kid growing inside of me right now, whether you like it or not. It takes two to make a baby, so stop acting like I'm the villain here!"

"I'm not!" Draco yelled back, his face red and splotchy. "I'm not making you the villain! You're just—!"

"Can't you see how upset I am? How overwhelmed?" Hermione felt the words spilling from her mouth, unable to find any sense of control. She was caught somewhere between anger and despair, frustration and humiliation. Heat and nausea rose within her, practically swallowing her whole.

Then came the tears.

Because apparently she wasn't in control of herself at all anymore.

They poured down her cheeks, hot and salty, but she spoke through them, her voice getting more and more raspy with each word. She wished she wasn't crying again. She wished she could just stand stoically and speak rationally, but her body betrayed her and sent droplets dripping off the end of her nose and streaking across her face instead.

And Draco just stared.

"I don't know if I can do this." She hugged herself even tighter around the middle. "I just don't know. I can barely take care of Shiloh, and… and now _another_ baby? Can't you just put yourself in my shoes for one goddamn minute? Can't you see that all I want is for you to put on a brave face and tell me it's going to be okay? But you're just acting like a child, blaming it all on me. Like I forced you to… to have sex and it all just feels so impossible. Like I can't talk to you about this. Like I'm going to be on my own again. And I can't—I can't do this alone, Draco. No matter what we decide."

Hermione felt her heart beat only two times before Draco's arms were wrapped solidly around her shaking frame, his face once again buried in her hair.

"Oh, Hermione, no," he whispered into the crook of her neck. "I would never—I couldn't—I'm _here_," he finished, brushing his hands through her tangled curls.

"Please just be here with me. Let's talk. Let's just talk. That's all I want." Her voice cracked, wrought with overspent emotion. She needed him to listen, to console her, to tell her that she wasn't bloody alone this time.

She felt Draco nod, his own tears soaking into the fabric of the pyjamas she had been wearing all day.

After a minute, Draco pulled back, holding her at arms' length. They both still sniffed, their cheeks blotchy.

Hermione took special note of Draco's bright red ears, which, despite the horrible timing, she found oddly cute.

She sniffled, using her sleeve to dab under her nose. "What do you want to do?"

"I don't know." Draco shook his head. "What do _you_ want to do?"

"I don't know either."

They stood just outside their bathroom, surrounded by the life they had made for themselves at Hogwarts. Hermione had only just grown used to it all… motherhood, having a boyfriend, living without the constant fear of war…

How much would a new baby change things? She didn't know.

"I just wish that—" Draco paused, running a hand through his hair. "I just wish that there weren't—that I hadn't just—"

He licked his lips. She watched as his eyes travelled past her to the closed nursery door.

Hermione furrowed her brow. "That you hadn't just what?" she pressed.

"I just—I can't protect all of you."

As Draco's words began to sink in, Hermione couldn't help the immediate confusion that rose within her. "Protect all of us? What—what do you mean, Draco?"

Draco sighed, dropping his hands to his sides. He closed his eyes briefly, his eyebrows raised as though he were trying to push something to the back of his mind. "Nothing. Doesn't matter."

He sounded defeated.

She didn't press the matter.

After that, there was only silence. Draco lifted the spell on Shiloh's door, poking his head inside to check on her.

Neither of them spoke as Draco grabbed his winter cloak and walked to the door to their flat. He looked back over his shoulder at Hermione only for a moment before disappearing.

She assumed he was going for a walk. That he needed to get some air. She didn't blame him, because truthfully she needed space herself after their altercation.

The following day Hermione and Draco made their way to the hospital wing. Luna had graciously agreed to watch their daughter without batting an eye The witch didn't even ask why, but was just happy to spend time with Shiloh. Upon pushing the wooden doors open, they were greeted by Madam Pomfrey bustling about. She was tending to some poor younger student with tentacles sprouting from his face.

"_Do_ try to be more careful in potions, Mr. Ashby." She looked up as the two of them stepped inside, and a pleased expression washed over her face. "Ah, Mr. Malfoy. Miss Granger. It's good to see you up and about, dear." Madam Pomfrey addressed Hermione directly.

"Thank you." Hermione walked closer and waited to talk until the tentacle ladden student had scurried out the door. "We actually wanted to talk to you about that."

Madam Pomfrey raised her eyebrows and motioned for them to follow her into her office at the back of the ward. The moment the door was shut, the whole story came spilling out. The soup, the panic, the charm… Hermione managed to contain her tears as she spoke, though her jaw tightened considerably when she recalled her confusion about how she had gotten pregnant while on the potion. It helped, she supposed, that Draco was gripping her hand the entire time.

Ever the professional, the Matron of Hogwarts concealed any emotion that might give way to her feelings towards the sudden news. "I see," she said, tone concerned but bright. "Well then, I'm glad I didn't dose you more than once with Pepper-Up. That's certainly not something you should be taking now."

Hermione shifted in her chair, her eyes dropping to the floor as an uncomfortable stillness fell between them.

Despite Hermione's hesitance, the matron seemed to know just how to coax answers from her. "Given you've already used the charm, what _exactly_ can I do for you today, Miss Granger?"

Hermione felt her throat go dry, the slow creep of anxiousness filling her but she pushed forward. "I want—" She took pause, clearing her throat to center herself before continuing. Draco squeezed her hand. It gave her a bit more courage. "We want you to confirm the pregnancy and help us with the next steps… whatever they may be."

Madam Pomfrey nodded, reading between the lines without judgement nor shame. "Well then, let's get you onto a bed. Shall we do it back here, for privacy?" She then placed her hands onto her thighs as she stood.

Hermione's thoughts drifted to the tentacle-covered Ashby. Any student could wander in during her exam.

"Yes, please."

"Very well."

Madam Pomfrey waved her wand, and the contents of her office sprang to the side. In their place, a hospital bed appeared with a _pop_.

It suddenly occurred to Hermione as she removed her trousers, folding them neatly and handing them to Draco, that she had no idea how a magical antenatal visit worked. Granted, she had only been to three antenatal visits for Shiloh, but she had enough experience to know vaguely how those appointments were supposed to go. At least in a Muggle clinic.

With Shiloh, she had been oblivious to her pregnancy for so long that she hadn't even been in her first trimester during her visit to that clinic in Manchester. She thought back to that nerve-wracking black cab ride and to the precautions she had taken in that clinic, Obliviating and Confunding so many of its staff.

It seemed like a distant memory, like something from another life entirely.

As she climbed onto the bed in Madam Pomfrey's office, a bundle of nerves in her stomach clenched. She wasn't sure if it was the overwhelming reality of her situation, or the unknowns of the medical procedures she was about to undergo, but either way, it felt nice when Draco squeezed her hand again.

He hadn't said much since their argument the day before, but for now, his hand was enough.

Hermione watched from the bed as Madam Pomfrey tapped a long, cylindrical device with her wand. Immediately, a silver mist appeared over Hermione's stomach, not unlike what had poured from her wand when she cast the pregnancy detection charm.

"Right, Miss Granger. I'm going to be inserting this tool into your vaginal canal. Once inside, this device will produce an image here." She pointed to the mist. "From there, I'll perform a diagnostic and take measurements for fetal gestation dating. Do you understand?"

Hermione nodded, focusing on controlling her breathing so she appeared calm and collected, though on the inside, worry swelled. Did Muggle clinics do this as well—stick something inside? On her very first clinic visit for Shiloh, they had been able to see the baby with a machine that simply slid over her stomach. Why couldn't they do that now? Or use some sort of magic that didn't require internal monitoring?

Steeling herself, she spread her legs as soon as Madam Pomfrey placed a sheet over them. As Draco took his place near her head, Hermione was reminded strongly of giving birth almost nine months ago. Just the thought of being back in that headspace, trying to have a premature baby amidst the chaos of a battle made her palms sweaty and her heart race.

"Right. Here we go, Miss Granger. It might be a bit cold. Three, two—"

She sucked in a breath, reminding herself to remain calm.

Almost as soon as the examination began, a mist above her stomach began to twist and swirl in midair, forming something lumpy and undefined.

"That," said Madam Pomfrey, comforting professionalism in her voice never wavering, "is definitely a pregnancy."

Hermione's stomach fell through the mattress.

Beside her, she could hear Draco clenching his teeth.

Madam Pomfrey waved her wand, and a parchment and quill appeared beside her. Tapping the parchment with her wand, she seemed to engage some sort of charm. The quill immediately began scribbling away.

"The device inside of you is taking a reading of the foetus's vitals as well as yours, Miss Granger. If we give it just another moment..." she peered at the parchment, squinting slightly. "Ah, yes. There it is. I can give you the date of conception as well as the due date."

Hermione nodded, unable to speak. The inside of her mouth had gone quite dry.

Madam Pomfrey removed the magical device and performed a quick cleansing spell before she picked up the parchment. Clearing her throat, she scanned the writing and looked up to catch Hermione's eye briefly before turning her attention to the misty image in the air."It looks as though this little one was conceived on December twenty-fifth. You are seven weeks along, and will be due on September sixteenth."

December twenty-fifth? Then that meant… had they actually conceived on Christmas? That had been the night in Charlie's old bedroom.

Hermione felt heat bloom in her cheeks at the memories from that night. They'd admitted that they were in love with each other. That they'd wanted to get married one day. The sex had been sweet. What some might call _making love_, even.

"—Miss Granger?"

Hermione shook her head, focusing back on the moment. "Yes. Sorry. Go on."

"I asked if that date of conception makes sense."

The heat crept further up her face, along her ears. "Erm… yes. It does."

"Except it doesn't." Draco interrupted. "Because Hermione has been on a contraceptive potion since this summer. She says she hasn't missed a dose and I believe her. So how could this happen?"

Madam Pomfrey furrowed her eyebrows slightly, her gaze flicking back and forth between the two eighth years. Hermione watched the concern in her expression through the misty image hovering above her abdomen.

"I can't know for certain until I see the potion. Miss Granger, are you still taking the same batch from the time of conception?"

Hermione nodded. "I brew it myself. I made three months' worth back in November."

"Right." Madam Pomfrey said curtly. "I'd like to examine the last dose of that batch. Can you summon it?"

A wave of her wand and an incantation later, the three occupants of the hospital ward's office stood waiting for a vial to come flying through the open door. As they waited, Hermione's eyes stared at the image of the foetus, still floating in the mist above her stomach.

The first time she had laid eyes on Shiloh in that clinic, she had experienced an overwhelming rush of emotion—of pure love. It had been brand new in the most wonderful, terrifying way. Looking at this new baby growing inside her, she couldn't feel anything other than dread.

Theoretically, she wasn't opposed to the idea of having another child with Draco. She loved him and she loved Shiloh. But reality was much different. Reality was laced with fear and regret and the heavy weight of shame for not embracing this new development right away.

Hermione loved Shiloh and would do anything for her.

But somehow, this little lump—this little bean flickering above her in the mist, did not ignite those same feelings. It just felt completely... foreign.

The guilt ate away at the edges of her as she waited for that damned vial to zoom into her hand.

Hermione handed the little glass bottle topped with a cork to Madam Pomfrey the moment it arrived, and the mediwitch immediately got to work deconstructing the potion in a small cauldron she conjured on her desk. It took only a few minutes of bustling around, stirring, pouring, and summoning.

All the while, Draco stood at her side, stiff as a board.

"Aha," she declared after a bit. "I think I know what happened."

Draco spoke first, his voice cracking in an effort to conceal his urgency. "What? What happened?"

"It's missing an ingredient entirely. Fennel root. Everything else is here, prepared to perfection."

Hermione let the words sink in. As they did, a numbness grew, beginning in her fingers.

Fennel root?

Had she honestly just forgotten to add a single ingredient? It seemed impossible. She was always thorough, triple checking all her work. The very idea that she had somehow been careless about something this important was incomprehensible… unimaginable…

And yet, so very, very real. The results of her mistake were right before her eyes, making her ill from the scent of mushrooms.

But how _had_ it happened?

Hermione wracked her brain, trying to recall the window when she had made the potion. It had been November—she knew that by counting backward. November had been a very stressful time, with Draco obsessing over those threats and Shiloh in the middle of her sleep regression. She hardly slept at all during the month of November, and—

_Oh._

Overworked and pushed to the brink of exhaustion, Hermione had brewed her three month batch of contraceptive potion during that time. After staying up all night with a fussy baby and attempting to study, her actions at that time had all been automatic, done without thinking. She'd brewed the potion using muscle memory, and though Hermione still had confidence in that memory, she still made mistakes.

In that fog of sleepiness, she had forgotten to add the fennel root.

Hermione emerged from her memories, back to the present, only to find herself shaking.

"It _was_ my fault," she whispered, her skin turning clammy and cold. "I was—I was so tired that I couldn't think straight. But I brewed the potion anyway."

Madam Pomfrey looked at her with pity in her eyes.

Draco—well, she half-expected him to smash something like yesterday. Or yell at her.

She couldn't blame him if he did. It all seemed so… unfair.

Draco was staring at her. Was that anger in his eyes? Fear? She couldn't pinpoint what he was feeling, and that, more than anything, scared her. Hermione knew she had a good pulse on his emotions. Ever since they had spent that summer at her parents' house, riding bikes and eating ice cream he'd been easy to read.

But this look—this was something new. There was some new depth in his wide eyes that went beyond anger or surprise. He almost looked like he was about to be sick.

"I need… I need a moment." Face grey and eyes unfocused, he turned on his heel and marched straight out of the office and into the far end of the hospital wing.

Hermione craned her neck just in time to see him crouch in a corner, much as he had the night before, hands raking through his hair, palms pressed into his eyes and a scream erupting from his mouth.

She expected to feel a tug of sadness as she watched her boyfriend cry so desperately for the second time in two days.

But for some reason all she could feel was fear.

It hit her unexpectedly, like a bucket of ice cold water dumped over her without warning. She wasn't sure why she suddenly quaked with fear, her clammy frame shaking beneath the thin hospital wing sheets.

Draco's reaction seemed like an omen. Hermione couldn't put her finger on it—she could hardly string two coherent thoughts together at the moment. But all she knew was that dread was expanding exponentially in her stomach as her eyes travelled between her panicking boyfriend and the flickering life projected just above her.

She must have been showing signs of panic, because when Hermione blinked, she found Madam Pomfrey at her side, rubbing gentle circles into her back.

"Oh, Miss Granger. I can hardly imagine what you're going through," she whispered in a tone more soothing than professional. "You must feel so overwhelmed."

Hermione was vaguely aware that she nodded, but couldn't bring herself to actually respond.

Madam Pomfrey continued. "Mr. Malfoy is clearly overwhelmed as well. It's understandable. You're both so young and you already have a child that you did not expect. And to think that the two of you have lived through some of the worst trauma I have ever seen, Merlin knows it's a miracle you two are walking about at all, if you ask me." The matron paused here, though her hand continued to place a calming pressure on Hermione's back. "And you certainly aren't the first witch or wizard to accidentally botch a contraceptive potion. If I had to guess, I'd say that half of your classmates were the result of poor brewing."

"But that's just it," Hermione muttered, unable to tear her gaze from Draco, who was still crouched in a corner. "I'm not a poor potioneer. I'm good at it. I'm more than good. I feel like I'll be beating myself up forever for this."

"Whatever you end up deciding, don't hold onto guilt like that. You said you were so tired you couldn't think straight? That happens to all new parents. They all make mistakes when they're that exhausted."

"But a mistake like this? A mistake that led to… to, _this_?" She gestured to the floating image.

"More than you might think."

Hermione was sure that the matron was exaggerating to make her feel better, but still, she couldn't help feeling a bit comforted.

"Just know, Miss Granger, a prideful Gryffindor though you may be, there is only so far bravado can take you. Trying to be strong can eat you alive faster than you can say Quidditch." Hermione felt a hit of shame rise inside of her, tinting her ears pink. But somehow, this time, it felt softer—gentler.

She nodded as Madam Pomfrey continued. "If you're tired, someone will be more than happy to brew a contraceptive potion for you. You can even purchase some from an apothecary. Just don't be afraid to ask for help." She paused for a moment before adding a final thought. "And don't you dare let Mr. Malfoy place the blame squarely on your shoulders. As your partner, it's his job to prevent you from getting that exhausted."

Hermione nodded along as she remembered those tough weeks last autumn. It was all supposed to be water under the bridge now—the massive rows they had, but what if…

Hermione stared at Draco's back. He seemed to be calming himself now, wiping his tears away with the backs of his hands like a child.

What if this outburst was just his own expression of guilt? What if he felt the same hot shame she did over that difficult time? Her skin prickled with empathy for Draco, and she felt the sudden urge to go to him, wrap her arms around him.

What was the point of promising to be there for each other, and then not noticing when the other was so miserable?

When Draco did trudge back over a few minutes later, she held her arms out to him. Wide-eyed and tear-stained as he was, he walked right into her embrace.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled into her curls.

"Later," Hermione replied, fists full of shirt material as she hugged him fiercely. "Let's talk when we get home."

Wiping his face one more time, Draco pulled away, and the two turned back to Madam Pomfrey.

"Are you two ready to continue?"

They nodded, and the matron pulled the still-floating parchment close to her. As her eyes flitted over the information, Hermione leaned back onto the pillows, exhaustion suddenly grabbing a hold of her.

"I just don't know if I want to have this baby," Hermione admitted. "The thought of doing all again so soon… it just seems impossible."

"Well, I don't know if it will sway your decision or not," said Madam Pomfrey looking up from the parchment, "but I just discovered the sex of your child. Would you like to know?"

Hermione caught Draco's eye, and she could see in an instant that he wanted to know.

She could take the information or leave it. The genitalia of this child wasn't going to be the deciding factor for whether or not she wanted to follow through with the pregnancy.

But for Draco, maybe it was.

To her, it was just information. Not good. Not bad. Just knowledge. Though she had to admit, knowing the sex of the baby would make it all the more real. All the more tangible.

Looking at Draco, one thing was clear: to him, it was more than information.

With a deep breath, Hermione responded, aware that the simple act of _knowing _would mean they would become a family of four.

"Yes," she said, shooting a tight-lipped smile up at Draco. "Let's find out."

Judging by the way his jaw dropped and his eyes grew wide, he hadn't expected that answer. Draco nodded, first at Hermione, then at Madam Pomfrey.

"Very well." The matron checked the parchment again before looking up. Her lips twitched into a near-smile, as though she was trying to conceal it. "It's a boy."

The words hung in the air for a moment, sinking into the young couple slowly.

A _boy._

Hermione wasn't sure how she felt about having a boy. She wasn't sure how she felt about _knowing_ she was having a boy.

But one look at Draco, and it was clear what he felt. That he felt something. Something _strong_.

His face was flushed, his lips parted slightly. The grip he had on her shoulder had gone slack, his hand falling away. What really gave him away were his eyes. Hermione had only seen that expression on rare occasions. When Shiloh was born. When he held her in his arms, whispering sweet nothings as she slept in his gentle embrace.

Hermione knew exactly what that look meant.

He was in love.

"Now, I _do_ need to tell you something else in the results," said Madam Pomfrey, her tone considerably heavier than before. Hermione turned to face the matron to find any hint of a smile evaporated, her eyes solemn. She felt her stomach drop instantly, dread flooding the void. Glancing sideways at Draco, she watched as his enamored expression faltered.

"If you recall a conversation we shared nearly three years ago," the matron began, her gaze fixated on Hermione, "I was concerned about the state of your uterus as a direct result of the curse damage you suffered."

Hermione unconsciously reached to her collarbone, running a finger along the spot she knew her curse scar began. She suddenly wasn't sure if she wanted to hear the rest of what Madam Pomfrey had to say. She wasn't sure if she was ready to hear it. But she nodded anyway.

The matron continued. "While you were very lucky with your last pregnancy and your daughter attached to the unscarred side of your uterus, this pregnancy has taken on the opposite side."

Draco frowned. "What does that mean?"

"It means, Mr. Malfoy," said Madam Pomfrey, "that this pregnancy is bound to be far more precarious than the last one. Scarring does not lend itself well to embryos attaching securely to the uterine wall. When I explained the predicted prognosis years ago, I had said that the likelihood of you being able to conceive and carry a child to term was low. It is evident that you are able to conceive easily enough." She shot a wary look at the two teenagers as she said this. "But it is carrying this pregnancy to term that concerns me."

Hermione let the words sink in. As she did, a lump lodged itself in her throat.

"So, I might miscarry?" The words left her in a small voice she didn't recognize as her own.

Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips, and though she was trying to steel her face, anguish was plainly visible in her eyes. Her voice remained steady as she spoke the truth unabashedly. "I'm afraid there's a strong possibility of that, Miss Granger."

Hermione went through the motions of nodding, though she honestly couldn't feel her muscles move. The office around went fuzzy as her vision blurred, though from what, she wasn't sure. Was it tears? Or was her mind just unable to come to terms with the news they had just received? Her whole body seemed to tingle with numbness, her ears filling with a distant ringing. The only thing tethering her to the moment was the vague awareness of a hand on her shoulder. Was it Draco's hand? Madam Pomfrey's? A little voice in the back of her mind wondered who was trying to offer her comfort.

Out of the fog, a singular thought emerged: _she didn't want to miscarry. _

She wasn't even sure she wanted to have this baby, but she knew for a fact that she didn't want to miscarry. She didn't want to set her mind on having a child, only to have it ripped away.

It just seemed too painful.

And she had been through enough pain, hadn't she?

Hermione had almost lost Shiloh because of her foolishness. If she could do something—_anything_—to prevent that misery from knocking on her doorstep, she would.

If that meant ending her pregnancy and moving on without opening herself up to the possibility of an attachment that would only end in pain, then she wanted that option. She didn't want to wake up every day with a knot of horrible anticipation in her stomach, wondering if today would be the day it all went wrong.

"Is there anything we can do?" Draco piped up from beside her, and Hermione jumped. She had almost forgotten his presence for a moment. "To prevent a miscarriage, I mean."

Madam Pomfrey sighed. "Well, there would be no guarantees, and I would label this pregnancy precarious at best, especially at this stage."

Hermione watched as Draco's face fell, and she was caught between wanting to comfort him and asking him to not get his hopes up.

But it seemed the Hogwarts matron wasn't finished speaking. "That being said, if you are determined to do your best to see this pregnancy through to its conclusion, I would recommend that you take it easy, Miss Granger. No strenuous activities. Keep a healthy diet as well. I would send an owl to St. Mungo's to get one of their antenatal specialists to come visit you every week, if possible. That being said—"

"We'll do it."

Hermione looked up to see fiery determination in Draco's eyes. It reminded her of how he had looked when she had gone into labour during battle. How he had stepped up, fighting for their survival as a family with a ferocity she didn't know he possessed. Then, it made her feel safe and protected, but now…

Now his determination made her throat constrict.

Madam Pomfrey looked between the two of them and cleared her throat, and to Hermione's great relief, she didn't seem to be prepared to immediately take Draco's side. "I believe it would be best if the two of you discuss this in private. It's a big decision, and I don't want there to be regret or resentment. I also don't want to push the two of you into making that decision on my schedule."

The tightness in Hermione's chest immediately relaxed. Beside her, Draco stiffened.

When Hermione had wiggled back into her trousers and the misty image of her pregnancy faded into thin air, Madam Pomfrey ushered her and Draco from her office and back into the corridor.

"I'll be here when you're ready," she reassured them as they walked through the double doors. "No matter your decision."

With the doors to the hospital wing shut firmly behind them, Draco and Hermione stared at each other for several long seconds. Neither of them moved, and Hermione could feel the familiar, thinly veiled wall creep up between them, growing higher with every moment their feet remained rooted to the spot. Hermione suspected that if they remained unmoved much longer, they might be stuck in this uncomfortable limbo forever.

"Come on." Hermione nodded toward the stairs. "Let's go talk."

They walked side by side to the eighth year dormitories. A few classmates tried to say hello, but Draco dismissed them with a glare. Despite becoming a doting father and boyfriend, it seemed his former ruthless reputation hadn't faded entirely. And for once, Hermione was grateful.

Fear still clung to Hermione like moss on a tree, refusing to let go, even as they walked into the familiar comforts of home. Draco shut the door behind him and cast _Muffliato_ along with a handful of other charms for discretion. They retired to their bedroom, where they settled on top of the mattress; Draco leaned against the headboard while Hermione remained upright beside him.

"So," she whispered, trying desperately to stop her voice from shaking. Her hands shook instead. "Seems like you've made up your mind."

Hermione didn't want to dance around the talk they needed to have. Draco turned his head to face her, his hands crossed across his stomach.

"I want to talk about it with you, I really do," he began, sighing. "But seeing that picture—I never got to see Shiloh when she was only seven weeks—"

"Neither did I," clarified Hermione, trying to keep her frustration at bay. "I had my first scan with her at seventeen weeks."

Draco grunted. "That's not the point." He ran his hands through his hair, breathing in deeply through his nose as if he was to calm himself. When he spoke again, his grey eyes looked straight at her. "I just didn't see her or even find out your pregnancy until you were seven months gone. And seeing that little bean… and then finding out it's a boy? I don't know if I can properly tell you what came over me. Just that I realized I want to know him. Our—our son."

A shiver ran down Hermione's body at that word.

Their _son_.

That little blob on the screen hadn't felt like much of a son to her, but to Draco… she saw the same longing in his eyes now that she had seen back in Madam Pomfrey's office. It was palpable, even from one glance.

He wanted this baby.

He wanted their—_son_—and she… wasn't sure.

"I don't want to miscarry." Her voice was soft, barely a whisper as she tried to explain her hesitation without bruising his emotions. "I'm also not sure that I'm ready—that _we're _ready for a second child. I mean, I'm only nineteen. You're still _eighteen_, Draco. We don't have jobs yet. We haven't even graduated or taken NEWTs. I still feel like a child _myself _half the time. A child raising a child. And having a second one? Now? I just don't know if we're ready."

All her fears came pouring from her in a hastened jumble of words. Hermione clung to the bedsheets with her fists, her eyes trained on Draco. He listened with rapt attention, his solemn expression never shifting.

Yet when she paused to give him an opportunity to speak, he remained silent. She watched his throat bob and his pupils contract as though he wanted to say something, but no words came out of his mouth.

Eventually, he looked away.

Hermione placed a hand on her stomach. It was still covered in stretched skin from her pregnancy with Shiloh. If she chose to believe Draco and if, by some miracle, this pregnancy stuck, then her stomach would begin to swell again within weeks. The thought took her back to many dark and desperate nights in that tent. Kept awake by weather or pressure on her bladder or even just worry, she had so often soothed herself by rubbing her belly in slow, gentle, purposeful circles. It brought her comfort, knowing she had this other little person with her, always.

Would she feel the same this time?

Would she feel the same unbreakable bond with this little boy if he grew inside of her?

Hermione couldn't quite tell, but she did know one thing: Draco was a good father. And she didn't want to deprive him of the connection he so clearly already felt with their—their son.

"What if I miscarry?" Draco tore his eyes away from his toes and looked at her instead. "Madam Pomfrey said it's likely to happen."

Draco closed his eyes as if in pain and broke his silence. "Then I'll hold you tight and we'll go through it together. But I don't think it'll happen. I have a good feeling about this—about him." He sat up and placed his other hand on her stomach, on top of hers.

Hermione's stomach lurched, but she pushed past it. Instead, she focused on their hands, laid gently against her stomach. Were they actually going to do this? Have another unplanned baby?

It seemed almost… _inevitable_, the way Draco put it.

"You-you _really _think so?" she asked after a minute. "You think we're going to be fine?"

"Definitely. I'll make sure of it." He was confident, his gaze unblinking.

"But how can you be so sure?"

"Because I'm not going to let anything happen to you. Or Shiloh. Or him."

Hermione gulped and closed her eyes. This was crazy. The craziest, most insane decision she could possibly make. And yet...

Draco could be right. She wanted him to be right so, so badly. Her outlook was one of fear and his was one of hope, and she certainly didn't want to be the one who was right this time.

Hermione was used to being the one who charged in while Draco hung back. But for some reason, their roles had been reversed. The fact that he was so determined spoke volumes to her.

She would have faith in him. In them. In their f_amily._

"Okay," she whispered, lifting her gaze, forcing the smallest hint of a smile on her lips.

"Okay?"

"Let's do this. Let's... have our son."

The word still felt funny. _Son_. How long would it take until it felt normal? She'd have to work on that, adjusting to this new reality.

Draco looked at her with eyes overcome by some emotion—Disbelief? Adoration?—Hermione couldn't quite tell. They were wide and unblinking, moisture gathering beneath his grey irises.

"Are you serious?" he croaked, swallowing and licking his lips as he pulled his hands back and sat up onto his knees.

"I am." Hermione felt the buds of confidence begin to take root within her as she spoke. Maybe they could do this. Maybe it would be okay, like Draco insisted. "I'm very serious, Draco. I'm terrified like you—not going to lie about that. But I don't want to be. I don't want to live in fear. I want to take that leap of faith with you. I want our shot at happiness."

No sooner had these words tumbled from her lips, Draco surged forward on his knees, pressing his lips to hers with a fervor she hadn't felt in his kiss since this past summer. Her stomach swooped, and she felt like she had all those months ago, butterflies and lovely nerves. The feel of his soft lips on hers made the last of her resolution crumble, and she melted into his embrace. He wrapped his arms around her, his large hands solid, even through her jumper.

Hermione was putty in this man's hands, and she knew it.

Draco lifted Hermione onto her knees so their torsos were pushed flush against each other. She returned his embrace, circling her hands around his neck and playing with the small hairs at the nape of his neck. He hummed at the contact and nibbled at her bottom lip.

Kissing Draco felt natural. Nothing else around her did, but this… this was _right._ His lips were soft and warm, and they tasted unmistakably like home. When he moved his hands from her back to gently cup her face, he pulled back an inch. Hermione frowned at the loss, but what she saw when she opened her eyes took her breath away.

Draco's eyes searched hers, as though trying to ask if any of this was real without saying a single word. Not that Hermione knew Legilimancy at all, but she knew Draco. She gave the tiniest of nods, her lips twitching.

He smiled—no, _beamed_. The dimple on his cheek that so rarely made an appearance came out in full bloom, and Hermione felt all the breath leave her lungs. He was so beautiful like this. Seeing his smile filled her chest with the feeling that they really could do anything as long as they did it together.

His thumb brushing against her pulse point, making Hermione shiver. He pulled her in for another kiss. His lips worshipped hers slow and steady as if with each moment he was saying, "I love you."

When they finally broke apart, their foreheads resting together, their breath intermingling, Draco ran the back of his knuckles lovingly over her cheek. His mouth, just milimetres away, whispered two simple, sweet words, his lips brushing against her own.

"Thank you."

* * *

**So much information given in this long, long chapter. These two have a lot to work out. **

**Take care, everyone. And as always, if you need to PM me for info, please feel free to reach out on tumblr. **


	14. Chapter 14

**Welcome back to a new chapter of The Gift of Life. It always makes my heart happy to see so many of you invested in this story.**

**As always, I'll give you warnings before chapters when I feel they're needed.**

**Big thanks to MsMerlin and Graceful Lioness. Without them, this story wouldn't be worthy of consumption.**

* * *

Light filtered through the gap in the heavy curtains. It painted a stripe across the bedspread where Draco laid beside Hermione, fast asleep, their chests rising and falling gently. Everything in the room was blissfully, beautifully still and silent.

Peeling his eyes open, Draco immediately scrunched them closed again. A beam of sunlight ran across his face, making it far too bright to properly look around the room. Though he hadn't set an alarm this morning—it was Saturday, after all, there had been no fear of oversleeping. If Shiloh wasn't waking him up, it was his nightmares. They'd started creeping in the last few weeks. Draco guessed it was due to stress stemming from the added pressure of keeping his son safe. Or perhaps it was coming from the anxiety he felt over the continued threats. He wasn't entirely sure.

Regardless of the reason, he had started waking up drenched in sweat two or three times a week, visions of Hermione writhing on the floor of the drawing room of the Manor filling his mind.

Each time he'd bolt upright in bed, hyperventilating and fingers scraping against his skin for any sort of proof that his reality—his safety—his _family_—wasn't a dream.

Then he'd see Hermione through the heart-racing fog, fast asleep beside him and hear the soft hum from the baby monitoring charm on his wand and a relief would slow his pulse. His nightmares gave way to blessed reality each time, but a residual uneasiness continued to cling to him long after he got up and began his day.

Thankfully, today was not one of those days.

Through his sleep-fogged brain, he wondered for a moment what had woken him up—nightmares or the baby. But it didn't remain a mystery for long. He wasn't sweating or shaking, and his heart pumped at a steady pace. Instead, a soft but insistent babbling floated through the air, broadcast through his wand from Shiloh's room.

Draco let out a sound somewhere between a groan and a sigh of relief. She was up.

"Coming," he grumbled, swiveling his legs over the edge of the bed and rubbing his face in his palms. Inhaling into his hands, he stretched and turned to look at Hermione. She was still fast asleep, half-buried in their sheets.

Draco felt his heart warm as he soaked in everything about her. She was lying on her side, one of her shapely legs thrown over the sheets, her arms tucked under her head for support. The tank top she was wearing had ridden up overnight, exposing her belly. At only thirteen weeks, she certainly wasn't showing much, but there was just enough of a curve to her abdomen that it gave Draco butterflies to look at it.

His son was in there. His _son_. His heir. And in six months, he would come screaming into the world like his big sister. Draco couldn't wait. The impending sleep deprivation, the stress—it would all be worth it.

He was lucky to have such a strong woman by his side, that she was willing to put her body through so much stress to bring their son into the world.

Draco had a hell of a lot to be grateful for. It was something he often had to repeat to himself when nightmares came or when he felt the prickle of others' judgemental eyes on him. But looking at Hermione, slumbering peacefully in their bed, visibly pregnant with his child, it was easy to feel grateful.

He leaned over and brushed his lips over her brow before pushing himself to his feet. Still fighting drowsiness, he stumbled slightly across the bedroom floor in his shorts and t-shirt.

By the time he got to Shiloh's room, she had pulled herself to her feet and was standing in her cot. When she spotted Draco at the doorway to her darkened bedroom, she started to bounce.

"Da da da da da da!" she shrieked as he made his way over.

"That's right, pixie. Dada's here and—" he lifted Shiloh from her cot and held her up to his nose. He immediately grimaced. "And you need a nappy change immediately. I mean, _Merlin_, Shiloh. What did you eat?"

She giggled and clapped her hands as Draco carried her over to the changing table. It was funny, the things he had gotten used to since he became a father. Never in his life had he considered changing nappies as a thing he'd ever do. That was a house elf's work—or so he had always perceived. He thought he'd be doing _important_ things like attending business meetings with his father and sitting on important boards of various organizations.

Yet, here he was at eighteen, already a father—almost twice over, and as close to happy as he could ever remember being. Sure, it wasn't perfect. Who truly _liked_ changing nappies, after all?

But no matter the smell, there was little else in the world he'd rather be doing than watch his daughter babble nonsense to herself as he tended to her.

He was so utterly in love with her, and just knew that same love and devotion would be showered upon his unborn son when he came into the world.

The mere thought of another child made his heart sing.

"Are you sure?" Hermione had asked him this question so many times since they agreed to proceed with the pregnancy. So many times that it often echoed in his head as he fell asleep.

_Was_ he sure? Of course he was. There was no doubt in his mind.

"I promise," he always answered, grabbing her hands and kissing them. "I want this. I want him. I want you. I want our family."

"I just want to make sure. I mean, when I first told you, you smashed a bowl." Hermione raised her eyebrows. "I rather liked that bowl."

Draco only rolled his eyes. "I cast _Reparo_ on it." He tried to flash a smile at Hermione, but no matter how many times he tried to cheer her up, she always seemed to return to tense features, her lips turned down and her cheeks pale. "Are _you_ sure?"

Every time he returned the question, the answer was the same.

"Yeah… I am. I'm sure."

Quick. Forced. Slightly detached.

Draco worried about Hermione nearly constantly now. He couldn't help but wonder if some of her reluctance stemmed from him—from what he had said to her. He had blamed her at first, put the fault for this pregnancy squarely on her shoulders. Of course, he had apologized profusely. Again and again and _again._ Hell, he would have gotten down on his knees and begged for forgiveness if that's what it had taken.

But oddly enough, she had easily forgiven him.

For some reason, that didn't sit well with him. It bothered him almost constantly, especially in quiet moments. Like a never-ending stomach ache or a heavy weight that never lifted from his shoulders, guilt about those words was eating away at him bit by bit.

Draco thought about those words as he finished fastening Shiloh's new nappy. He thought about them, replaying in his mind like a skipped record, even as he kissed the bottoms of her little feet and lifted her from the changing table.

How could he have said something like that to her?

How could he have blamed her for something that was clearly on _both_ of them?

Maybe those threatening notes were right. Maybe he wasn't deserving of Hermione, Shiloh or his unborn son. Maybe he was just the spawn of a Death Eater who wasn't destined to ever grow beyond that. Those were the thoughts that had eaten away at him when he was trapped beneath the Ministry for his trial, and though he tried to project an image of himself that was confident and happy. The truth was those fears were always there, whispering toxic things in his ear, peeling away at the edges of his joy.

And when Hermione answered him so curtly—almost… detached, that she was sure she wanted their son, he wanted so badly to believe her. He wanted to find the truth in her words, but that voice would surface in the back of his mind, telling him that she was lying.

Draco was working hard to convince himself that those voices—that those anonymous notes—that all the stares he always got—meant _nothing_.

But it was difficult to silence the sussurant slurry of self doubt and force his fear into submission.

The best cure, he found, was distraction.

And thankfully, Shiloh was perfect for the task. Shiloh, and today's errand.

"Come on, pixie," he said, cuddling her to his side. "Let's get you dressed. You have to look nice for your grandmother today."

Draco summoned a powder blue dress with a bow in front and a cardigan and grabbed it with his wand hand when it zoomed from the closet. Then, with the skill only a practiced parent could have, he maneuvered the two of them onto the floor, setting Shiloh down on a blanket and charming her plush dragon to dance in mid-air to distract her.

He got to work, snapping and tugging until she was presentable enough for his mother. She looked adorable, cherub-cheeked and smiling, and her little dress only made her cuter.

That being said, Draco knew it was only a matter of time before she spit up all over it or got food on it. For safe measure, he summoned two extra outfits and a handful of nappies to pack up.

With Shiloh ready to go for the day, he tramped back to the bedroom, plopped Shiloh in her portable cot, and got himself dressed, throwing on some clean, casual robes. From the other side of the bed, through the bathroom doors, he could hear the shower running. He imagined Hermione underneath the spray, droplets trickling down her expanding body. Just the thought was enough to make blood rush to his groin.

Draco palmed himself lightly through his trousers, but froze when he remembered Shiloh was very much awake and on the other side of the room.

Groaning, he rolled his shoulders and did some light stretches to try and rid himself of growing pent-up energy. And it was all starting to look a bit hopeless until—

_Tap tap tap._

Draco felt dread pool in his stomach in an instant. He knew what that tapping meant. It had become an all-too-familiar sound in the last couple months. It was an owl.

This one was like all the others, hooting outside the window with an innocent-looking note tied to its leg. But Draco knew exactly what the contents of that note would be. It'd be like all the others: vague, but threatening and dripping with sinister intent.

There was something distinctly evil about the notes, and unfortunately Draco knew evil well. He had looked it square in the face last year.

Whoever was writing these notes was strictly heinous. The threats had actually been waning as Christmas approached, and Draco had begun to feel secure in his own home once again. He had been sleeping soundly for the first time in years.

And then Hermione had announced the pregnancy. Or, rather, her clothing had done it for her. Unlike her pregnancy with Shiloh, there wasn't a dire need to conceal her growing belly. She could have more actively hidden it, but three weeks ago, she had popped a bit. Just enough to be noticeable under her school jumper.

The response had been immediate.

If the threatening note he received just before Hermione told him she was pregnant had been a coincidence, the notes in the past few weeks certainly hadn't been.

_Death Eater Slut_.

_How many are dead because of you?_

_Your spawn are unnatural and deserve to rot at the bottom of the Black Lake. _

That one had kept Draco awake for three days.

These threats were exactly what made him afraid when Hermione told him she was pregnant. He had _just _begun to feel in control of his life again; he could handle stares and rude comments and threats directed at him. He had finally been able to wrap his mind around protecting his girlfriend and child. But adding another baby to the mix… it had all just seemed like too much.

He had lost his temper. Gone into a rage. It wasn't exactly his proudest moment.

Then he had seen the little thing, and it was like everything just… fell into place. Seeing that baby—_his son_—he wasn't sure he had ever fallen in love so quickly before.

After that, somehow, he found resolve deep within himself. He had, as Potter had reminded him all those months ago, "stepped the fuck up." He was still afraid, for his girlfriend and children, but now his fear was surpassed by this need to care for them—to protect them.

Hermione needed to stay calm and not strain herself, so he started by keeping these threats to himself. All notes went into a corner of his trunk; he didn't want to burn or vanish them in case he needed a paper trail later on… in case the threats became more than hateful words scribbled on parchment.

As to who was behind them all...

Draco had his suspicions, of course. Blaise Zabini remained at the top of his list. He was always skulking in corners, shooting dirty looks at them when they sat in the common room. His friend, or rather, _former_ friend hadn't said a word to him since starting back in September. Unlike Theo, who had reluctantly accepted Draco's new life, Blaise almost seemed offended by it. He kept his distance, and Draco was just fine with that.

Draco opened today's note with shaking fingers and nearly choked in disgust.

It wasn't a note, but a picture. It was a picture of Shiloh, clearly taken from afar. Someone had enchanted a picture of the dark mark onto her arm.

Underneath it, the caption, "_Like father, like daughter._"

Draco wanted to vomit. He clutched his own forearm and clenched his teeth, holding himself steady as his stomach roiled at the insinuation. Quickly, he stuffed the photograph into the corner of his trunk with the other notes before he could give into the urge to crumple the thing up and chuck it in the bin.

Just as he shut the lid of his trunk, Hermione stepped out of the bathroom door. Her wet curls clung to her shoulders, and she had covered herself with a pale green towel. Her eyes sparkling as she caught sight of him.

"You're looking very handsome today," she said with a hint of mischief in her smile.

Draco schooled his features as quickly as he could, plastering a smile on his own face. "You know, if you're good today, perhaps you could do something about it when we get home."

Hermione only rolled her eyes, and Draco relaxed.

He couldn't allow her to worry. Not with her pregnancy so precarious. Even if he had to act fine for months, he'd do it.

"Are you ready to go to your mother's?" Hermione asked as she folded her towel and grabbed a pair of knickers from her trunk. Her dewy skin glowed in the morning sunlight drifting in from the window.

Maybe pretending wouldn't be _so_ hard.

"I am. Are you feeling okay about it? I mean, you haven't been back to the Manor since—well, you know."

He watched as Hermione ran her fingers over her left forearm.

"I'll be fine, I think," she responded as she did the clasp on her bra. "You said we wouldn't be in the drawing room?"

Draco nodded. "Yes. I made my mother promise we would talk elsewhere."

Hermione visibly relaxed at his words. "Then I'll be okay."

He sat on the bed and watched as she dressed in a pale blue dress and a matching robe. From his vantage point, he could see her bump clearly protruding outward.

They would be telling his mother today. To say he was nervous was an understatement. Narcissa had only learned about Shiloh after she was born and there wasn't anything she could do about it.

But this baby… She could demand Draco renounce him as his heir. She could cut ties with him when he refused—because that's exactly what he would do.

Perhaps that's why he hadn't slept well last night. Narcissa seemed to adore Shiloh, but Draco had no idea how she would react when she found out about their son. Their friends had all reacted in different ways.

Harry seemed a bit disappointed when they Flooed him, but he had given them support in the end.

Theo and Ginny had both raised their eyebrows and expressed disbelief.

Ron had been angry. So angry. Furious, even. Hermione hadn't spoken to him since, though she admitted in private that she knew he just needed time and space.

McGonagall's jaw had actually dropped when Hermione told her. Draco could tell that she had tried to keep herself steady and not give away her true response, but at least this time, she had failed miserably. The headmistress had sputtered as she tried to gain control of herself.

"Well, Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy—that's—well, _congratulations_, I suppose."

Hermione had turned five shades of red and cried when they left McGonagall's office. Draco had to comfort her as she howled at their kitchen table.

"It's all right, love. It's not your life's mission to please McGonagall."

This had apparently been the wrong thing to say, because she only cried harder.

He should have known. His girlfriend was the biggest swot at Hogwarts, after all.

Only one person had reacted well so far, and that had been Mrs. Weasley. She had been completely supportive when they owled her, writing back almost immediately with two full rolls of parchment filled with reassurance and advice.

_There's nothing wrong with having a family when you're young,_ she had written. _What matters is the love you have._

She had gone on to write a list of tips, including charms and potions to help out with multiple children.

Draco had never felt so compelled to hug someone so much in his life.

And now, faced with the prospect of telling his own mother of their joyous news, he was scared. Having Mrs. Weasley in his corner was a big relief, but she wasn't his _real _mum—she wasn't the one who he really needed to hug him. He felt a little strange admitting this to himself, but sometimes he thought that he just needed his mother.

Today would either come as a huge relief or a massive disappointment, and he couldn't quite predict which way the wind would blow.

He was amazed by Hermione, though. Calm and composed, she hadn't given any hint that she was nervous ever since they had arranged to have tea last week. Even now, shortly before they were to floo over to the Manor—to the place where she had been tortured and nearly lost Shiloh—she seemed oddly relaxed.

Draco's thoughts focused back on Hermione, who was standing by their bathroom mirror, plaiting her hair. He was surprised how relaxed she seemed. After so much time spent together, he liked to think he knew when she was anxious; he knew that a vein in her temple pulsed and her jaw tightened; he knew that her hair grew frizzy and her breathing grew increasingly ragged.

But right now, she wasn't doing any of those things.

Draco wondered briefly if she had taken a calming draught.

When she was fully dressed, Hermione crossed the room and lifted Shiloh from her portable cot. She looked lovely like this, their daughter cradled in her arms, her stomach swollen with their second child. Her cheeks were rosy, and they dimpled when she smiled his way.

"Ready to go?" Her tone was light as if they were simply going for a stroll around the lake as opposed to being moments away from announcing another unplanned pregnancy.

He nodded. "She's expecting us any moment."

Hermione summoned Shiloh's nappy bag from the nursery. Draco grabbed it from mid-air as it zoomed toward her and slung it over his shoulder. "I've got this," he assured her. They left their little flat and walked down the staircase into the common room, which was relatively deserted with most of their classmates taking advantage of the opportunity to sleep in.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Draco asked as they approached the fireplace.

Without hesitation, Hermione offered him a close-lipped smile. "I'm fine."

He watched as she rubbed her left forearm.

The three of them were greeted by Narcissa the moment they landed in Malfoy Manor—in the parlor rather than the drawing room, thank goodness. She was dressed in pale pink robes and immediately began dusting Draco off.

"At least you've chosen dark robes today, darling," she commented as her fingers brushed across his shoulders. Narcissa glanced beside him. "Oh, dear. Shall I call an elf?"

Draco's eyes flitted to Hermione and Shiloh, who were both dressed in pale blue and covered in soot.

"That won't be necessary, Mother." He pushed his mother's hands away and moved to help his girlfriend and daughter.

"I'll have the elves clean this grate out. It's unacceptable, really. Apologies, my dears." Draco could tell that his mother was attempting to hide her discomfort by acting the proper hostess. But Draco felt stiffness in every syllable. Dread bubbled in his stomach, though he wasn't entirely sure why.

When everyone was sufficiently clean, Narcissa led them out of the parlor and down the main corridor. Now that he was carrying both the nappy bag and Shiloh, Hermione had moved to grab her forearm again, but he took her hand in his and laced their fingers together, offering a comforting squeeze instead. She squeezed back.

Thankfully, they walked right past the drawing room; its doors were shut tight.

Hermione didn't seem to notice, and Draco let out a small breath. He was grateful that she didn't know the layout of the Manor. It was his job to keep her stress level down today; to prevent anything from happening to her or their son.

Draco didn't let go of her hand as Narcissa let them into the solarium; he didn't let go when Hermione vocalized how beautiful all the flowers and magical plants were; he didn't even let go once they had settled into cushioned chairs before a massive breakfast.

Hermione transfigured one of the cushioned hairs into a high chair for Shiloh, and Draco used his wand to cut some strawberries and bananas from the fruit salad into tiny pieces. By the time Narcissa had settled across from them, the ten month-old was happily munching on her breakfast.

"She seems to be doing well," Narcissa commented as the teapot levitated to her spot and poured its contents into her empty cup. "I'm proud of the way you two are raising her, even though I _do _think you'd enjoy having a house elf to help a bit."

Draco felt Hermione tense beside him. He cleared his throat and reached for a plate of sausages.

"Now, Mother. We've discussed this. Hermione and I want to raise Shiloh on our own."

"Well yes," continued Narcissa. "But what about next year when you're in healer training, Dragon? And I assume Miss Granger will be wanting a career, brilliant witch that you are." She nodded her head toward Hermione, whose eyes had grown wide at the mention of her name.

"I do want a career," Hermione piped up. "But we're hoping to place Shiloh at the Ministry childcare service some days and with Molly Weasley other days."

Narcissa paused her wandwork, eyes lifting to find his. "What about me? I'd love to spend time with Shiloh."

Draco turned his head to face Hermione. He could practically see the conflicting thoughts running through her head.

More support would be lovely. Shiloh shouldn't be kept from her grandmother.

But she really didn't want Shiloh here in the Manor… here, where so many horrible things happened.

It was all painted on her face as clearly as though it was printed in _The Daily Prophet_.

"We'll think about it," Draco interjected. "Meanwhile, we do have something we wanted to talk about with you."

Hermione squeezed his hand.

"Oh? And what's that?" Narcissa took a sip of her tea, her cup resting on the edge of her bottom lip. Her eyebrows raised in expectation.

Draco dabbed his mouth with his napkin and cleared his throat. "Well, Mother, _we_—" he nodded his head in Hermione's direction. "—have some news we wanted to share with you."

Narcissa leaned forward slightly, setting her cup back in its saucer.

Draco cleared his throat again. Why was this suddenly so hard to say?

"Are you two finally getting married?"

Hermione spluttered and nearly spat out the sip of tea she had just taken.

Draco looked back and forth between his mother and his girlfriend, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. After what felt like an agonisingly awkward few seconds, he managed to find his voice.

"I'm sorry, _what?_"

"Married," Narcissa clarified, as if she assumed they had not heard her correctly. "I assume that's the news you two came to share. I daresay, you've put it off long enough."

Draco felt heat rise up his cheekbones all the way to the tips of his ears. A sideways glance at Hermione revealed that she matched him, her face the colour of a tomato. He hastily grabbed his teacup, taking a long swig to clear his throat.

"Mother," he spoke definitively once he finished. "Hermione and I have no immediate plans to get married. That's not what we came to talk to you about today."

His mother looked immediately crestfallen, her own ears tinged a bit pink.

"Well I—I daresay I won't apologise for my assumption. It's what two sensible young people in your _situation_ should do." She was forcing herself to make eye contact with Draco at this point—that much was clear; it seemed as though she was too proud to admit to the social faux pas she had just committed.

At this point, Hermione's grip became vice-like under the table. Draco focused back on the task at hand.

"What we came here to say," he began, nerves creeping back up his throat with each word, "is that Hermione and I… we're—we're expecting another baby."

The moment the words exited his lips, Draco felt like the small smattering of brunch he'd managed might work it's way up his throat.

His mother dropping her teacup and having it smash on the solarium floor didn't help matters.

Narcissa haphazardly grabbed her wand and repaired the cup. She licked her lips and folded her hands in her lap, her intense eye contact suddenly absent.

"I apologise for my reaction," she said in a reticent tone after a minute. Sniffing, she shifted in her seat, moving her clasped hands up to the table. "It's _wonderful_ news.

Draco would have doubted her sincerity had he not seen her lips twitch upward. Narcissa was a talented actress, and could fool many with her smiling facade, but Draco was not one to be fooled by her. He knew his mother better than nearly anyone and this… _this_ was a real smile. This smile reached her eyes.

"It's a boy," Draco added to finish swaying her.

His mother's smile grew dazzlingly wide.

"A boy! Thank Merlin. And now you'll have one of each! That's such a blessing, Dragon." Narcissa reached across the table, presenting her hand to Hermione, who shot a glance at Draco before placing her shaking hand in his mother's. "And Miss Granger, how are you faring?"

Hermione looked slightly pale as she answered, "All right, I suppose."

"How far along are you?"

"Just over thirteen weeks."

"Wonderful, wonderful. And you're due…?"

"September the sixteenth." Her voice grew stronger as she spoke. "That's the same week as my birthday."

Narcissa's eyes lit up. "We'll have to throw a party, then! To announce the birth of the newest Malfoy heir and his mother as a part of our family."

Draco was about to interrupt his mother to tell her that they might not want to have a party in their honour just days after having their son, but she barreled through.

"But of course, for this child to become the Malfoy heir, he will need to be legitimate. Your lovely daughter can simply hold the Malfoy name, but to be the heir—that requires more."

It was as though all the air had been sucked from the room.

"What are you saying, Mother?" Draco bristled.

Narcissa lifted her arms, her palms splayed. "I'm only letting you know that for your son to be considered the heir to the Malfoy name and fortune, he'll need to have two parents who have been bound in matrimony under the Malfoy name."

Hermione had gone pink again, and Draco could see her jaw tensing. Under any other circumstance, she would be shouting already, indignant, her hair frizzing and her eyes ablaze. She would have put his mother in her place eight times over.

But these weren't normal circumstances. She was under specific instructions from her healers to remain calm.

It wasn't just anyone who was riling Hermione up—it was his mother.

His mother, who was sitting in the house where she had been tortured, nearly a year ago.

Nearly a year ago…

A prickle ran up his spine.

Draco made calculations, his mind flitting back to the colour-coded study planner Hermione always kept open on the kitchen table.

A year ago.

This week.

_Shit._

"I'm only saying that not getting married before this baby comes would be shameful. One out of wedlock is a bit unfortunate, but _at least_ she's a girl."

"Mother—"

"Having two children out wedlock when you are perfectly capable of getting married and saving face is simply scandalous."

Draco gritted his teeth. "Mother stop talking."

"I mean, if your father were here, what would he say?"

"The bloody hell I care what my father would say! He's in Azkaban! If and when Hermione and I _do_ get married, it'll be on our own time."

He did not want to bring up to his mother that he had been thinking about looking for a ring—had been thinking of getting down on one knee around the time of graduation.

He had bigger dragons to tame right now.

Hermione looked like she was about to have a nervous breakdown. She was now clutching her forearm, her eyes wide with fear. She looked moments away from bolting.

How could he have been so stupid, to bring her to the Manor exactly one year after she had been tortured here? They may have made it into her second trimester, but her entire pregnancy was fragile. He couldn't take any chances, even with his mother.

Draco stood abruptly, placing his napkin on the table. "I'm sorry, Mother. But if all you're going to do is berate us—Hermione, especially, then we'll be going. If you cannot be happy for us, then you don't have to be part of our son's life. Not until you sort your priorities."

Turning to Hermione, Draco immediately wrapped his arms around her, his voice softening. "Come on, love."

Draco moved to scoop Shiloh from the high chair, holding her to his hip, and slung the nappy bag from his opposite shoulder.

"Goodbye, Mother. Please reconsider your idea of tact if you wish to see me in this house again."

With the nappy bag arm wrapped around Hermione's shoulders again, he looked her straight in the eye. "Let's go home," he said with confidence, though he knew his voice was shaking.

Draco didn't look back as he led his family—his _own_ family, back up the central wing of the house, past the closed doors to the drawing room, and into the parlour.

A toss of powder and a burst of green flames, and they were gone.

* * *

**Draco really has grown so much. He's come such a long way.**

**In other news, I have actually finished writing the story in its entirety! Some of you have asked if this will reflect in my update schedule. My answer is MAYBE. There are editors involved, and all three of us are super busy. For now the schedule will still be every other week, but I'll let you know if I switch over to weekly, I promise!**

**As a reminder, this story is definitely a HEA. Our babies go through tough stuff, but I swear they'll come out on the other side.**

**And as always, if you have questions or concerns, shoot me a message on tumblr. But please, please remember to be respectful and polite. **


	15. Chapter 15

**How have two weeks already passed? **

**So many of you had visceral reactions to Narcissa - understandably so. **

**Once again, I promise to let you know of any trigger warnings in these notes. **

**Big thanks to MsMerlin and Graceful Lioness for their alpha and beta help!**

* * *

Hermione didn't leave bed for three days after their visit to the Manor. Barely tending to Shiloh, she'd hidden in the safety of their sheets and Draco felt wholly responsible.

His stomach twisted into knots as he watched her thrash in her sleep, fighting an invisible demon. One night he had cut her fingernails as she slept, preventing her from drawing droplets of bright red blood across her scar as she clawed at the long-healed wound.

_Mudblood. _

He was still so ashamed that word had ever crossed his lips.

He cleaned her arm with a damp cloth, gentleness in every dab, words of love on his tongue. He hoped that someway, somehow, he could show her how much he cared for her—how much had changed for good in the year since she had writhed on the floor of Malfoy Manor.

When Hermione was sleeping soundly, he tended to everything, notifying professors of Hermione's temporary absence, and even seeking special permission to bring Shiloh to class with him in the event that he couldn't find anyone to watch her.

This, as it turned out, was an excellent idea.

This way, at least McGonagall was a little prepared to have her lecture regularly interrupted with cries of, "Nananana!" when Draco quietly offered her bits of banana to munch on during her lecture.

What she hadn't been prepared for—and neither had Draco—was for her to mimic all the other NEWT level students in the class as they practiced conjuring a book. Every time Draco pointed his wand at the empty space on his desk, Shiloh reached out her pudgy hand, too.

"Librum!" He cried, pointing at that empty space.

"Dee-Duh!" Shiloh shrieked, copying him.

The class found this wholly amusing.

When Draco finally did manage to conjure a book in one of his final attempts for the day, he took delight at his daughter's wide-eyed wonder when she saw something appear out of nowhere.

"Buh!" she yelled, clapping her hands. "Buh! Buh!"

"That's right, pixie. Daddy conjured a book."

Draco felt the eyes of his classmates on him as he interacted with his daughter. Theo, Blaise, MacMillan, Neville… they all watched as he encouraged his daughter's laugh. He knew very well that some of them did not think he was fit to be a father, and some that thought he should not have come back to Hogwarts with a child in tow. They, like his mother, probably thought it was shameful.

As McGonagall passed by his desk, Draco could have sworn he saw something akin to pride flash in her eyes.

Unfortunately, these moments of joy were few and far between as Hermione laid in bed.

But on the third day after their disastrous meeting with his mother, he returned from class —thankfully, having left Shiloh in Luna's care this time—to find Hermione sitting up in bed, bags under her eyes, but a faint smile painting her lips.

"Hey," he offered, setting his school bag down at the foot of their bed. "How are you feeling?"

Hermione sighed, closing the book that had been open in her lap—a good sign. "I'm okay."

Draco crossed to the far side of the bed and settled beside Hermione, taking his hand in hers. "Are you sure? Because I feel like such an idiot for taking you to the Manor." Draco ran his free hand through his hair and growled, mostly at himself. "I didn't even ask you if you felt up to going. And it had been exactly a year—and I'm supposed to be taking care of you—"

"Draco," pressed Hermione, leaning down to catch his eye. "It's fine, honestly. I'm fine. It shook me up, yes, but I'm a big girl and I can take care of myself." She reached out and cradled his jaw with her palm; the feel of her smooth hands on his stubble soothed his worried heart.

"And the baby?" he asked softly.

"Fine, as far as I can tell."

Draco turned his head to kiss the palm that had been pressed to his cheek. "Thank Merlin," he whispered. "I was so scared that I put you in a position that gave you enough stress to—" He didn't finish his sentence. He didn't have to. Instead he leaned his forehead against Hermione's. He could feel her breath mingling with his, sweet and warm, and the anxiety that had been eating away at him these past few days finally, finally dulled.

"I'm fine, Draco," Hermione murmured against his mouth. "It… it wasn't easy to go back to the Manor, knowing it had been exactly a year since that day. But I've had this time to think, and you know? I realized something."

Draco pulled back. Hermione's face was flushed, her eyes bright and honest.

"Yeah?"

"That even though it was hard, I'm not afraid. Not any more. You know why?"

Draco reached his hand down to lace his fingers with hers. "Why?"

"Because without that day, I wouldn't have found you again. You saved me. You saved our daughter." Hermione leaned forward and brushed her lips against his. "And if Harry, Ron, and I hadn't been caught and taken to Malfoy Manor, who knows when we would have found each other again? Who knows if we both would have lived to see the end of the war?"

Draco pulled her close, stroking her hair, though he didn't truly know who he was trying to comfort. "We would have, love. You didn't need to get tortured for that to happen."

Hermione kissed him again. "But I _was _tortured."

Guiding him backward with her hands, Hermione climbed onto his lap. The feel of her thighs pinning his legs in place was almost overwhelming. Draco's heart beat a tattoo against his ribs as she pressed herself into him. Her slightly rounded belly nearly closed the distance between them. He couldn't help the surge of love and attraction he felt for this witch as she continued to talk, her lips dancing around his own. "I'm okay now, and it's largely thanks to you. That's what I realised when we visited your mother. That I have no reason to be afraid. Not of that place. Not anymore. Not as long as you're by my side to help me get through it all."

Draco didn't know what to say to that, so instead, he kissed her. He tried to pour all his feelings into his lips, his tongue, and his fingers, each part of him giving his whole self to her—to the woman he loved.

And she needed him. Loved him back, even.

It amazed him at times.

Clothes gave way to bare skin, their floor filled with discarded items. Draco's hands roamed over Hermione's whole body, and he savoured the warmth of her skin against his.

She was almost feral, determined to chase his pleasure, biting and sucking a path across his torso. Draco was tempted to give in, his baser instincts gripping his mind as her mouth trailed lower and lower, past his belly button. But as she attempted to unbutton his trousers, he pulled her lips away from his skin and back up to his own.

Flipping them so that Hermione lay beneath him, her curls spread across the pillow, Draco began his own journey across her skin. She tasted like honey on his lips. He wanted to devour her—wanted to pour all his love into her as he made his way down her neck, stopping to savour the soft peaks of her breasts.

"Oh, Draco, _yes_," she sighed as his tongue swirled over her nipple. "_I need you."_

The sound of Hermione's moans above him sent thrills down his body, and he doubled his efforts, pressing open mouthed kisses across her abdomen. As his lips drew closer to Hermione's center, she began to cant her hips into him. When he pulled down her pyjama bottoms to reveal her pretty, pink cunt, his mouth went dry.

"So beautiful," he whispered, looking up. Hermione had arched her back, her flushed face tilted back, her eyes closed in anticipation. Between them, her swollen belly stretched with his son, adding to her beauty. Draco swore he had never seen such a gorgeous sight in his life, and then he buried himself between her thighs.

Even there, nestled between her sodden curls, she tasted like honey. He nibbled and sucked greedily, lapping her up as though he were parched. Above him, Hermione writhed and keened, her body clearly straining to take charge. But when she reached down to card her hands through his hair, he remained steadfast, determined to make her scream, not from pain, but from pleasure.

Draco wanted to take his time—wanted to savour her taste as he showed Hermione exactly how much he loved her, how much she could rely on him.

Hermione's hips began to cant faster and faster, the hand threaded through his hair pushing his face against her dripping center. Draco was sure he was going to suffocate, but _oh,_ what a way to go. And just when he needed to come up for air, Hermione's hips stuttered to a sudden halt, her center spasming around his tongue. Draco chanced a glance up at her face, to find her eyes squeezed shut, her mouth hanging slack, and the most divine moan he had ever heard coming from it.

"_Draco,"_ she breathed, her whole body going boneless. "Why—?"

"Because I love you." he crawled over her until his body hovered over hers. "And because you are the strongest, most wonderful witch I've ever laid eyes on and I am so damn lucky to have you and Shiloh in my life."

The look in Hermione's eyes made all the air leave his lungs. He couldn't quite place it, but if he had to describe the way her eyes swam with emotion, her lip trembling and her smile wide enough to dimple her cheeks, only one thing came to mind:

_In love._

"Is Shiloh being taken care of?" Hermione asked, a hint of mischief in her voice.

"Yeah, she's with Luna all afternoon," he responded.

"Good."

Hermione sat up just enough to press her lips to his again. From there, she dragged them both into oblivion.

The month of March that year was surprisingly warm, and Draco was determined to take advantage of the burgeoning spring. The following Saturday, he and Hermione requested a picnic basket from the Hogwarts kitchens, and they hiked out to the Black Lake with Shiloh in a sling on his back.

The spring wind whipped through their hair as they walked across the grounds, and Draco revelled in the way Hermione's curls danced through the air.

Hermione summoned a soft, well-worn brown blanket from her beaded bag and levitated it into place under a budding tree by the lake. Once it was settled, she grabbed a few toys and books for Shiloh as Draco lifted the little girl from the sling.

"There you go, pixie," said Hermione as Shiloh reached for her plush dragon. "Have fun."

The two stood in silence for a moment, watching Shiloh play with smiles on their faces before they moved to sit.

"Oh, here," Draco said as Hermione lowered herself. He conjured a cushion for her, and she offered him a grateful smile.

After eating a sandwich and a glass of pumpkin juice each, Hermione laid down, her head in his lap. Draco ran his fingers through Hermione's hair and took a deep breath, savouring the breeze.

"It's so lovely," Hermione said as she gazed up at him. "I wonder if it'll be this lovely in September when he comes." She placed a hand on her stomach, and Draco beamed down at them.

"Mmm."

They sat in silence for a while longer, simply enjoying each other, before Draco spoke up.

"Where do you want to live after we graduate? I had always assumed I would inherit Malfoy Manor one day, but I'm guessing that's off the table?"

Hermione offered him a half-smile which served as the only answer he'd ever need on the matter.

"I suppose I had imagined us moving to London. You and I would both like the hustle and bustle of a city, I think."

Draco nodded in agreement. She continued. "I just don't know whether we would want to live in a magical or Muggle community. There are positives to both."

Draco considered Hermione as she looked up at him, her eyes briefly lost in thought. Never in his life had he imagined even considering living in a Muggle community. It once again painted the dichotomy between his former life and now in a stark light.

A younger version of himself would have scoffed at the very notion. He would have sneered at anyone who even suggested it as a possibility.

And now… it still didn't entirely appeal to him. His instinct was still to expect his family to be raised within a traditional, hidden magical community.

But love was a strange thing. It had changed his heart and mind before, and he suspected that a logical person like Hermione might be able to sway him about this, too.

"What do you think the positives to living in a Muggle community are?" Draco asked, trying to keep his tone light.

Hermione's expression shifted only slightly, but he noticed; her face relaxed, and her lips widened. "Well, for one, we wouldn't be recognized when we go out and about."

Ah, that was the crux of it all, wasn't it?

"I see your point," he chuckled. "That alone might be reason enough."

Hermione smiled but pressed on. "And it would be nice for her to know the neighborhood children since she'll go to Muggle Primary school with them."

At this, Draco raised an eyebrow. "I studied with a private tutor at home when I was young and I was quite content with the results."

"This isn't about _results_, Draco. It's about familiarizing our children with both the worlds they come from. It's about making sure they have plenty of friends."

Draco sighed, shaking his head. "We'll think about it, okay? But if it's that important to you, Merlin knows it's only a matter of time before I give in."

Hermione stuck her tongue out at him. He returned the gesture.

"Will your mother be all right with us moving in together? Living outside the Manor?" Hermione asked tentatively as they both watched Shiloh smack two wooden blocks together in delight.

"It's not exactly a matter of if she's all right with it, because it's what we're doing."

"It's just funny is all," Hermione piped up. "Not having to consult any parents about it all. Your mum wants us to get married right away and my parents—" she paused for a second, her expression suddenly melancholy. "—I don't think my parents particularly care what we do."

Draco wiped away the tears that gathered in lower lids and leaned down to kiss her forehead. "I'm sure they care, Hermione. I met them, don't you remember? That whole summer we were together at their house, I was amazed at how much they loved you. And they still do. I mean, how could they not love you?"

"Maybe because I forced them to uproot their entire lives against their will."

"You were saving their lives, love. They'll come to their senses and realize that sooner or later."

"Mm."

Silence grew between them again, only to be interrupted by Shiloh pointing at a pair of ducks on the lake and shrieking, "Ba!"

Both young parents chuckled.

"Do you think they'd want us to get married?" Hermione asked after another minute, her gaze traveling just past Draco, focused instead on the white buds on the tree above them. "My parents, I mean."

Draco swallowed. His stomach lurched. Was Hermione asking for his honest opinion? Or was she implying something else?

"It's hard to say," he choked out. "I...erm… I never exactly got the chance to discuss the matter with them."

Hermione nodded and hummed. "It's just—I know that wizards and witches get married young all the time, but in the Muggle world, it's far more typical to wait. And I know that our circumstances aren't exactly typical—I mean, we're going to have two children before we're twenty—but I just… I just don't know if I'm ready to get married."

The words spilled from Hermione so quickly that she didn't have time to take a breath until she was finished. By then, her face had gone red, and she looked frantic.

She couldn't be frantic. Draco wouldn't allow it. So he inhaled deeply and asked the one question that had danced on the tip of his tongue for weeks.

"If I _did_ ask you, Hermione. And only _if_—" He paused, summoning all the courage he possessed. "If I asked you to marry me right now, would you say yes?"

Draco watched Hermione's expression shift over and over again as she seemed to process his question. It changed from confusion to surprise, disbelief to joy, and then to Draco's utter disappointment, sadness.

"I...I—" Hermione licked her lips as her eyes searched his. Her mouth jaw moved slightly, as though she was trying to find some words—any words to say. "Right now? I don't know, Draco. There's just so much—so much I—_we_—need to figure out. And marriage… I mean, _marriage!_ We're only, _gods_, we're only teenagers who are about to have two children and I—"

Hermione's jaw began to tremble. "It's just so much."

As much as he wanted to put his disappointment on display, some voice in the back of his head that sounded oddly like Molly Weasley told him that this was not the moment. That he needed to consider Hermione's feelings on the subject as valid. So that's what he did. Ignoring the pain in his chest, he nodded.

"I understand."

Hermione's eyes dropped to her fingers, examining her cuticles as she spoke again in a small voice. "And it's not to say that I don't want to marry you, Draco. Because I do, actually. One day I do. I—I love you so much. I just… I want us to do it on our terms. So much of what's happened to us has been the result of situation or chance, and I don't want that for us. I want to choose you when we're both ready."

And although Draco agreed with her, giving her plenty of reassurance as the Spring breeze ruffled their hair, he already knew one thing for certain:

He was already ready.

More than anything, he wanted Hermione to be his wife. He had never been so certain of anything in his life. But he also didn't want to scare her or drive her away.

He changed the subject.

"I tucked something in your bag that I thought we could look at," he said, summoning the beaded bag into his hands. Then, pointing his wand into the bag, he summoned a familiar dog-eared book.

Hermione's eyes lit up with recognition.

"Really? Names already?" A watery smile stretching across her face as she sat up, clearly appreciating the change in topic as much as he was.

Draco nodded. "I'd like to be prepared this time. Call him by his name instead of just 'the baby'.

Hermione chuckled and plucked the book from his hands. Before he could protest, she pulled out a piece of parchment sticking out of the top—a piece of parchment that he, himself had stuck there.

She looked down at it, her mouth forming the word he had written down—the name.

"Scorpius?"

Draco shrugged. "Since he's going to be the Malfoy heir, regardless of what my mother's expectations are, I thought that we could give him a constellation name."

Hermione's eyes flipped between him and the slip of parchment.

"Why Scorpius?" he asked. "Why not Leo? Or Orion?"

Draco scoffed. "Leo? Really? A name that means 'Lion' for a Malfoy boy? Out of the question."

Hermione merely rolled her eyes. "But seriously, why Scorpius?"

Draco ran his hands through his already-windswept hair with a sigh. "I guess—Scorpius is said to have been the only creature that Orion was scared of. The only thing tough enough to destroy someone who threatened everyone and everything." He paused, wringing his hands together. "I chose the name Scorpius because it means that our son will be able to handle whatever life throws at him. He'll be tough, but for the right reasons."

Hermione was watching him closely, as though he were some difficult code she was trying to crack. Her eyes were narrowed, her brows knit together, and she looked down at the paper again.

"Scorpius, huh?" she said after a minute. "I like it."

Draco's heart lifted. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

They spent the next little while flipping through the book, looking at all the names they hadn't needed to consider last time. Hermione had the idea of giving this child a name that meant _gift _as well.

"So he'll always know how much he was loved from the time he grew inside of me," she added, though Draco didn't need any persuading.

While Shiloh slept in the afternoon sunshine, the two of them laid side by side, talking of vague, beautiful futures with their Shiloh Beatrice and their little Scorpius Nathaniel.

And for the first time in a long while, Draco felt completely at peace.

* * *

**I would love to hear your reactions to this story! I haven't been getting as many as expected, and radio silence is a little disconcerting when there's a lot going on in the story. I just want to make sure that you all are enjoying the story and hear what you think! **

**The good news is that I have actually finished writing the rough draft and so this story will definitely be completed in the coming months! **

**Take care, everyone! **


	16. Chapter 16

**Based on the reviews I received, many of you are anxious about this story and where I am taking our precious bbs. **

**They are going through hard stuff. Stuff that's sometimes hard to read about. **

**But I swear they'll come out on the other side. As I keep saying, this story is HEA. **

**TW for this chapter: Verbal confrontation**

**A billion thanks to MsMerlin and GracefulLioness for their AlpaBet help. **

* * *

Pink and white blossoms drifted in the breeze, falling almost like snow in the mid-April sunshine. They dotted the green landscape of the Hogwarts grounds and swirled all around Hermione and her little family as they made their way to Hogsmeade to do a bit of shopping.

A few petals drifted onto Shiloh's head, contrasting her pin-straight chestnut hair. Another petal drifted onto her nose, making her sneeze.

"Bless you, darling," Draco said, shooting her a brief, affectionate look. Now that she was nearly halfway through her pregnancy, Draco would hurry to pick up Shiloh before Hermione could even think about carrying their growing daughter anywhere.

"It's not good for your stress levels," he insisted nearly every time she moved to pick Shiloh up. "I've got this, love."

While she felt a little guilty and resentful for not being the one to cradle Shiloh in her arms, she couldn't help the relief that crept into her mind as well. Shiloh was not a little baby any more. In less than a month, she'd be a year old—a proper toddler, and she was getting heavier each day.

She was especially heavy when she threw a tantrum, which was happening, unfortunately, far more often these days.

Draco blamed it entirely on himself. "I was always a dramatic child," he would explain with a shrug after Shiloh threw her cup of pumpkin juice across the Gryffindor table. "I think she's going to take after me in those regards."

"If that's the case, then Merlin help us all," Ginny murmured between bites of ham sandwich with widening eyes.

That morning, Shiloh had kicked up a fuss when they hadn't been able to find her stuffed dragon. She hadn't stopped screaming for nearly an hour before Hermione found the thing under a couch cushion in the common room. After such an ordeal, Hermione was already thoroughly exhausted by nine in the morning, and didn't even pretend to protest when Draco hoisted Shiloh into the sling on his back.

The three of them finished crossing the Hogwarts grounds, entered Hogsmeade, and immediately made their way to Humbug and Willie's, the only toy store in the village. As much as Hermione wanted to stroll through the village, taking in the beautiful Spring weather and perusing the shelves at Featherstone's Books, they were on a mission today.

Teddy Lupin's birthday was coming up, and they were all invited to a special birthday celebration the following weekend. Today was their only chance to find him a suitable birthday present.

Draco held the door to Humbug and Willie's open, and Hermione walked through the threshold and into a practical wonderland of colour. The entirety of the shop looked like an enchanted forest, covered in moss and vines and very real fairies. Instead of shelves, products were stacked on gnarled branches that lined the walls.

Hermione couldn't help the smile that stretched across her face as she took it all in, captivated by the scene before her.

"Wow," she breathed, soaking in the lush atmosphere. "This place is amazing. I'd have loved it as a kid."

Draco smiled. "I came here a couple times when I was little. I always wanted to hide somewhere and see how long it took my mother to find me, but the one time I even tried, I was lectured for an hour about how Malfoys act in public." Draco chuckled, undoing the sling to let Shiloh down. "Needless to say, I didn't try again."

"Well, given how much Shiloh takes after you, we'll have to pay extra attention to her in here."

The moment Shiloh's little feet touched the soft, mossy ground inside the shop, she took off, toddling toward the shelf at the far end of the shop filled with stuffed toys. Walking was a new development for her. She had only taken her first steps a couple weeks ago, and had been practically unstoppable since.

Hermione worried about the uneven terrain in this store—especially the tree roots jutting out from the floor—but she was trying to give Shiloh room to fall and get back up again. It was something she was determined to do, much to Draco's protests, and it was proving harder than she thought.

Every time Shiloh bumped her head or tripped, it was her first instinct to rush over, scoop her up, and whisper comforting words in her ear. But she wanted to raise a strong child—a child who was resilient and who could make her own decisions. So she had promised herself that as long as there was no blood or unnaturally painful crying, she'd try to let Shiloh soothe herself.

With great trepidation, she watched Shiloh walk on chubby legs across the store.

Draco, it seemed, was watching with apprehension as well. He was biting his lip as Shiloh happily toddled away, not even looking back to check for them.

"She'll be fine," Hermione assured her boyfriend as they followed a few feet behind her.

Draco hummed.

They found a shelf near the stuffed animals containing baby toys, and began to peruse for a present for Teddy.

"What should we get him?" Draco plucked a wooden train from a shelf and turned it in his hands. "It's not like he realises it's his birthday."

"Well," said Hermione, pulling a levitating ball from another shelf, "I don't think it really matters what we get him. I think Andromeda and Harry mostly just want us to be a part of his life."

Hermione fought a tightness in her throat as she left so many words unspoken.

Harry had reached out to them two weeks ago, letting them know about the small gathering for Teddy for his first birthday. It wasn't going to be much—just a handful of family and friends and some cake. Harry confessed that he was too busy with Auror training to put together a proper party, and Andromeda wasn't sure she was up to planning a big event.

Hermione's heart had broken when she heard this. Of all the babies celebrating their first birthday this year, Teddy Remus Lupin deserved the biggest and best party of them all. The moment Harry ended their Floo call, Hermione got to work, contacting as many people to help as she could think of. In the end, she managed to scrounge together a small army of witches and wizards who were very excited, indeed, to celebrate little Teddy's first birthday.

"Do you remember the day Teddy was born?" Draco asked as he set the toy train back on the shelf.

Hermione nodded, turning her head to watch her boyfriend, images of Shell Cottage flooding her memory.

"I remember that was the first time it really hit me that I was going to be a dad," he admitted, pulling a toy cauldron from the wall. "Professor Lupin—he told me that watching my cousin have Teddy made him love her infinitely more. He told me that I'd feel the same about you."

Hermione felt her heart swell at his words. She reached for his hand, lacing their fingers together. A smile twitched on her lips. "And did you?"

Draco leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "You know I did. Still do."

Despite her smile, Hermione felt a strange sadness at the same time. It was bittersweet, enjoying the love from her boyfriend, and watching their daughter grow—both things neither Remus nor Tonks would ever be able to do. Her fingers curled around the ball still in her hands as she blinked away tears that threatened to fall.

"I just wish—I just wish that Remus and Tonks could be here to see what a beautiful boy he is." Hermione dabbed her eyes with the back of her hand. "I wish that he could just have his parents with him instead of me having to scramble to assemble a sort of makeshift family."

Draco's arms were wrapped around her at once, cocooning her in warmth.

"I know." His breath tickled her curls as he leaned in. "But Teddy has us. He has his grandmother and he has a godfather. And even though you had to ask people, they're coming, aren't they? They're all so excited to be there for Teddy."

Hermione sniffed, gratitude for Draco's comforting arms and words swelling inside her chest. "I suppose."

"He's going to be just fine, Hermione. We may not take the place of a mum and dad, but we'll be there for him, no matter what. He won't go without parental figures in his life. Potter, if anyone, will especially make sure of that."

Hermione smiled as the image of Harry cuddling Teddy flashed in her mind. Those two—it was as though they were made for each other. Harry was so broken after the war and Teddy needed someone to love him unconditionally. Now, whenever Harry sent pictures of him and Teddy by owl, they both had smiles on their faces.

Teddy was Harry's son, even if not by blood. That, more than anything, brought comfort to Hermione's aching heart.

"Perhaps you're right." Hermione nodded, leaning into the dark wool of Draco's jumper so she could inhale his familiar scent.

He pressed a kiss onto the crown of her head. "Of course I am."

Hermione didn't have to look at her boyfriend to know he was smirking.

"Stop being so smug and help me pick a present." She swatted at his shoulder and pulled back from his embrace.

Draco let go of Hermione and set down the toy he was holding. "I was thinking about a toy broom."

Hermione shook her head. "Harry's getting him that. He said something about it being a godfather's tradition."

Draco shrugged. "Then I'm out of ideas. Most of these toys seem boring."

From the adjacent side of the store, Shiloh suddenly shrieked. Both Draco and Hermione immediately jumped and raced to her side, only to find her smiling and hugging a white toy owl. When Shiloh squeezed tighter, it hooted and she giggled.

"Well," Hermione laughed, reaching for Shiloh's hand. "I do believe Shiloh might have just done our job for us."

The two of them helped Shiloh walk over to the counter, where an elderly gentleman with hair growing out of his ears stood. Draco tried to pry the owl out of Shiloh's hands for the man to ring up, but she held on tightly. After several attempts to get the toy away from her, Draco sighed. "Looks like we're getting two."

As they walked from the shop minutes later, purchases in hand, Hermione just shook her head. "They'll have matching owls. It'll be cute." It seemed like enough of a justification.

"Maybe we'll just call it an early birthday present."

While they had openly discussed Teddy's birthday celebration, they had yet to touch on the subject of Shiloh's first birthday. As they drew closer to the one year anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts, Hermione had noticed more and more of their classmates had started breaking down in classes, in the corridors, at night in the common room…

Somehow, holding a child's party on that somber day didn't seem right.

As they walked up the main street of Hogsmeade, Hermione watched Shiloh hug her new toy owl fiercely. Her stomach twisted and one thought became clear.

Shiloh deserved a proper birthday.

"Hey, Draco," she said as they strolled past Dervish and Banges, "what do you say we stop by Honeydukes and order a birthday cake for Shiloh?"

Draco paused, wiping a stray blossom from his hair. "A birthday cake?"

Hermione shrugged. "I just—thinking about Teddy's birthday and calling that new toy a birthday present… Shouldn't we start planning something for Shiloh?"

She watched as a series of conflicting expressions passed over his face. Hermione liked to think she knew Draco well—liked to think that she knew what was going on in his head. She knew how worried he was about Shiloh's birthday coinciding with the deaths of so many friends… how he worried about how he would be perceived if they transformed a solemn time into a celebration.

Hermione watched as worry lines appeared on Draco's forehead, his gaze moving from Shiloh to Honeydukes, across the street. She could see him fighting the instincts to run and hide that had been planted in him ever since his days sitting in a Ministry cell.

But in a moment that came as a surprise, that worry faded from his face quickly, and was replaced by a tentative smile. "Yeah. Let's… let's take care of that while we're out. I'd like to order a cake for her party."

Hermione reached out and squeezed Draco's shoulder. "Maybe it'll be good to have something to distract us."

Draco heaved a sigh. "Yeah... Distraction."

Crouching down, Hermione scooped Shiloh up and placed the little girl on her hip, which was starting to get more difficult. At nearly nineteen weeks pregnant, her stomach had really popped, and all the extra weight around her middle wasn't exactly kind to her back.

Draco looked warily at her for a moment, but before he could say anything about her straining herself too much, she spoke again.

"Let's go, then. Come on, pixie. Do you want to pick out your cake with Mummy and Daddy?"

Shiloh clapped her hands as they made their way across the street.

Thirty minutes and five cake samples later, Hermione's pregnant self was purring with the satisfaction of having consumed so much sugar. They had also placed an order: a chocolate cake with green frosting—Draco's idea, naturally. And after consulting with Shiloh about how she wanted it decorated (Hermione was feeling grateful that Shiloh had learned to nod over a month ago), they had decided to decorate the top with a dragon that was enchanted to breathe fire made of candy floss every four minutes.

It was going to be an excellent birthday cake. So excellent, perhaps, that they might be able to forget about the ghosts of the past for a little while.

Hermione held onto Shiloh during their walk up to the castle, despite Draco's protests. Shiloh tangled her little fingers in her mummy's curls and leaned her head on her shoulder.

As Hermione walked, she thought about how it was nice to have something to look forward to on the days surrounding the anniversary. If it hadn't been for Shiloh, perhaps they would have only been filled with darkness and dread.

Petals were swirling in the air again. Hermione wondered briefly if petals had swirled like this on the Hogwarts grounds last spring. It didn't seem possible, with all the evil that had surrounded this castle and their entire world a year ago. All she could remember was the destruction of war rather than the beauty of spring. There was something quite beautiful about the petals, yet something ephemeral as well.

As she watched the little pink and white flowers drift on the wind, it struck her for the very first time that just maybe, while the pain from the war would linger for the rest of their lives, its tenacity, like the flowers, was fleeting.

What was stronger was the love they had for their daughter and soon, their son—and for this life they were building from the ashes of the war. That love was like the trees scattered throughout the grounds, steady and unmoving, season after season, year after year.

And part of that love was celebrating their daughter's life—celebrating her birthday by bringing as much joy to their scarred world as they could.

Hermione adjusted Shiloh on her hip, turning her head to press a kiss onto her forehead. As Shiloh's weight shifted around her expanded waist, a sharp pain shot through her lower stomach briefly. It wasn't like the fluttering kicks she had begun to feel recently. This was… different. She must have made some sort of noise, because Draco paused and looked her up and down.

"Are you all right?" Concern in his eyes. He didn't wait for a response. "Here, let me hold Shiloh." Draco reached out his arms.

"That's okay. I've got her." Hermione rearranged Shiloh again, this time without pain.

Draco gave her a look that said, 'If you must' and continued up the path to the castle.

By the time they reached the castle, Shiloh was passed out on Hermione's shoulder. They did their best to slip past the rowdy game of Exploding Snap happening in the Eighth Year common room and up to their little flat, where Hermione immediately made her way to the nursery.

With Shiloh down and out for the time being, Hermione collapsed into a chair at the kitchen table and summoned a glass of water. She was tired and out of breath; Shiloh was definitely getting heavier and she needed a break.

As Draco stole a moment to himself in the loo, she took the time to relax, leaning onto the back of the chair with a sigh. This pregnancy was definitely taking a higher toll on her than her last one, despite carrying Shiloh nearly to term during a war.

Madam Pomfrey had warned them that this pregnancy was far more precarious, her placenta attached in a highly-scarred area of her uterus. Thankfully, during their biweekly antenatal checks, nothing had been abnormal so far. Now that she was firmly into her second trimester, she felt more reassured. Tomorrow would be their official mid-pregnancy scan, and a specialized mediwitch from St. Mungo's was scheduled to visit the Hogwarts Hospital Wing just for them.

Tomorrow they would physically confirm the sex of the baby and take thorough measurements for the first time. She was a bit nervous, but mostly, she was excited to see Scorpius again. It had taken her a while to warm up to the idea of becoming a mother of two before the age of twenty, but she already loved Scorpius dearly, and spent many evenings reading to him from Shiloh's storybooks.

Draco had taken to singing to her protruding belly, which Hermione found all too heartwarming. She fluctuated between amused and completely besotted on the nights when he laid on their bed, perched on his elbows as he sang some little song.

"_Five little dragons _

_Growing in big and strong_

_Swooping and flying_

_All day long."_

Draco's ears turned red every time he sang, and afterward, he swore her to secrecy.

Hand over her heart, she promised never to tell a single soul what an adorable father he was.

In fact, Draco sometimes reminded Hermione of her own father: serious to most of the world, yet kind-hearted and even silly with their own children.

As Hermione thought of her father, her thoughts drifted to the counter, where a letter from her parents sat, slightly crumpled. They had received that letter just yesterday, after reaching out to them by owl a few weeks ago. In the initial letter set to Australia, they let her parents know about their second pregnancy, inviting them to come for the birth of their grandson and even their granddaughter's first birthday. Hermione had poured every ounce of hope she had into that letter, imbuing it with all her good thoughts as she sent it off with a tawny owl back in March.

Unfortunately, their clipped response hadn't been what she was hoping for.

_Hermione,_

_Thank you for letting us know about the impending birth of your second child. Your mum and I talked, and we believe we'll be referring to him as Nathaniel. As to paying you a visit, we really can't. Our mobile dental practice is just kicking off for the season, and we are needed here in Australia. _

_Happy birthday to Shiloh!_

_Mum and Dad_

There had been no other questions about her wellbeing—about her pregnancy—even about school.

Hermione had cried for over an hour after receiving the note, but hadn't had the heart to rip it up or vanish it. Instead, she just left it out, as if another re-read would reveal some sort of hidden affectionate message she hadn't caught the first time.

She _had_ read it again. Several times, and there were no other messages.

Instead, the very sight of it made her blood run cold. She didn't want to see it—didn't want to compare Draco to her father any more. Draco would never abandon Shiloh and Scorpius when they needed him most.

Would he?

Heartbeat ringing wildly in her ears, Hermione pushed herself up from her chair and stomped across the kitchen, fully intending to rip up her parents' letter into a thousand tiny pieces; to shred it with the wand that had already caused such a rift between them. The smooth, white paper in her hand had clearly been grabbed from a printer. After handling parchment for so long, its texture felt strange in her hand.

She placed two hands at the top, intent on ripping it clean in two. As she did, a short pain crossed over the surface of her stomach, but it died down as soon as it came. She gathered her strength, but as she began the necessary wrist movement, she paused.

This piece of paper was the only bit of her parents she had received in the last several months. They hadn't bothered to reach out since last summer.

That hurt. That hurt her more than she could describe with words.

But what hurt more was the thought of not having any bit of her parents to hold onto.

Hermione's arms dropped to her side, the paper still pressed between the fingers of her right hand. She blinked back tears at the thought of what she had almost done.

She had spent nearly a year worrying after her parents' safety. She would have given anything to hear their voices or see their handwriting during those trying days, stuck in a tent with an uncertain and dangerous future.

And now, surrounded by nothing but happy news to share, she was going to rip up their precious words?

Hermione almost loathed herself for needing her parents so badly, but she shoved that thought to the back of her mind to analyse another time. For now, she just wasn't ready to get rid of that letter. Instead, she padded across the room, folding the paper as she did.

She needed a place to tuck the letter, where she wouldn't see it often or think of it, but where she could feel at ease, knowing it was still there. From the moment she entered the bedroom she shared with Draco, her eyes landed on his trunk. She never really looked inside it before, in fact the only time she ever saw its contents were when Draco happened to open it to retrieve something.

Surely, he wouldn't mind if she just tucked it into a far corner.

Hermione knelt by the trunk and unlatched it. The contents inside were well-organized, much as she would have expected. Unlike Ron and Harry, Draco knew how to pick up after himself. Hermione chuckled at the brief distraction before digging past his neat pile of socks to find an innocuous corner to stuff the letter.

But… that was odd.

There were already a handful of letters there.

Tilting her head, Hermione reached down and grabbed one. Unlike the rest of his trunk, which was impeccable, this note was crumpled and ripped. It was as though Draco had stuffed it in his trunk in anger.

Flattening the parchment against her knees, she read its contents.

As she did, her stomach instantly dropped.

There, written in ugly blank ink were three words that sent a chill down her spine.

_Death Eater Slut_

What in Merlin's name was this? She flipped the parchment over, but found nothing. Blinking in confusion, she reached inside the trunk for another letter.

_You and your family disgust me. _

She reached for another.

_Your spawn are unnatural and deserve to rot at the bottom of the Black Lake. _

Hermione's head spun as she pulled out letter after letter, each one more horrific than the last. What were all of these letters doing in Draco's trunk? Did that mean he knew about them? It certainly seemed that way…

He hadn't mentioned any new threats. Not for months. They had driven him spare during autumn term, but they had sorted that out. He had moved on.

Hadn't he?

And if all these letters continued to arrive, then how was he even keeping it together?

Why would he do this—keep this secret from her? Weren't they supposed to be open about these sorts of things? Share the burden? Work out the problem together?

And if these threats kept coming, were they in actual danger?

Resentment burned inside Hermione, and she felt her jaw tighten. Angry tears gathered at the edges of her eyes, though they didn't fall.

_How could he? _

Hermione was still sitting on the bedroom floor, the letters scattered around her when Draco returned from the loo. He sauntered in, hands in his trouser pockets, but his carefree expression quickly morphed into one of alarm. His eyes darted from the pieces of parchment surrounding Hermione to his open trunk. Before Hermione even had a chance to say anything, he jumped in, voice cracking.

"Look, Hermione. I can explain—"

"Explain? Explain _what_ exactly, Draco?" she snapped, climbing to her feet with great effort. "Explain how this maniac has continued to threaten our family? Explain how you've been _purposely_ keeping it a secret from me? Because I'd like to hear all about that."

Draco seemed to shrink under her gaze, but he recovered quickly, squaring his shoulders.

"I was protecting you," he said in a tone that screamed '_well-isn't-it-obvious', _his arms waving wildly_._ "You… didn't want to fight about the threats anymore. And the more I thought about them, the more I realised that they were all bark and no bite." He paused, swallowing. Hermione watched his throat bob nervously. "So even though threats kept coming, I… I didn't want to burden you with them. Madam Pomfrey said—"

"To hell with what Madam Pomfrey said!" Hermione could feel her body vibrate with anger, fingers curling into fists at her side. "Withholding information that could be dangerous to us—to our _family_—do you honestly think that this is less stressful for me than if you would have just told me?"

Draco shuffled his feet. "Well, you weren't supposed to find out."

"That's definitely not the point here!" She stopped her foot, brow furrowing. "The point is that you didn't trust me. I mean… _do_ you trust me?"

"What?" Draco took a step forward, his arm stretched out toward her. "_Of course_ I trust you—"

"Because my parents certainly don't trust me. All the departments at the Ministry don't seem to trust me. Why would you be any different?"

"Hermione, calm down. You're getting hysterical, and the baby—"

"The baby will be fine!" Hermione batted away his reaching hands, taking a small step backwards to stay out of his grasp. "What I want to know is why you can't bring yourself to tell me that someone is threatening our family."

Draco hung his head, rubbing the back of his neck and taking deep breaths.

"I just didn't want to upset you. I thought that I could handle it all on my own."

"And did you? Have the threats stopped?"

Draco pursed his lips. "No."

From behind them, a sudden tapping came at the window. Hermione whipped around to see an owl perched just outside, its yellow eyes peering inside insistently. Behind her, Draco groaned, and Hermione's anger swell inside her.

Before Draco could say anything else, she marched over to the window, unlatched it, and let the owl inside. A bit of parchment was rolled up and tied to its leg. Hermione undid the string and pulled the letter off. Holding it between her fore and middle fingers, she turned to face Draco, eyebrows raised.

"Is this what I think it is?" she asked, ice in her voice.

Draco sucked in his cheeks and nodded. "Probably."

Resentment still bubbling inside, Hermione turned the parchment and unrolled it. What she saw made her want to vomit. There, in scratchy handwriting was a message that made her blood run cold.

_So many died for your daughter to live. How many will die for your son? _

Hermione stared blankly at the parchment, the words swirling in her mind. What did the sender mean? Who died in order for Shiloh to live? It just didn't make any sense.

"It's the same person." Draco's voice pulled her from her thoughts. He had moved from his spot near the door to peek over her shoulder at the letter. "The handwriting is the same."

Hermione frowned. "How often have these been coming?" She traced her fingers over the writing and tried to keep the desperation out of her voice.

"Every week or so." Draco shifted his weight between the balls of her feet, hands slipping into the front pockets of his trousers as he peered at the slip of parchment. "And they're always like this. Horrible, but vague. Like someone is trying to wear us down instead of actually hurt us."

Hermione crumpled the new letter in her hand and turned back to the pile on the floor. They were arranged in a circle; in the center sat the bright white printer paper from her parents.

Oddly enough, that letter felt far too similar to all the others.

Hermione pushed that thought aside. "Do you have any idea who's doing this?"

Draco shook his head. "It's someone at Hogwarts. I know that much. And as to who it actually is, I have an idea, but I haven't been able to prove anything."

For some inexplicable reason, this comment just infuriated Hermione even more. She felt her blood pressure rise as she clenched her fists, her face flushing and every muscle tensing. "Then why not let me help you figure it out?" She threw her hands in the air. "Maybe you're just learning this about me, but I am better at research than any other student at this school—I could have helped. Could have shared the burden."

She felt like crying now—felt betrayed by Draco's mistrust. Her chest ached as though it had been squeezed too tight. She couldn't even look at him.

"Hermione, I'm sorry—"

"Apologising won't cut it, Draco."

"Then what will?"

"I don't know." As she spoke, she felt her heart—and his, breaking. "I just—I just need to be alone."

Draco licked his lips. Hermione could see his chest heaving with the effort of holding his tongue. After a few tries, opening and closing his mouth, he finally spoke.

"Please, Hermione. I just wanted to protect you. Let me stay." His voice cracked. "_Please." _

For half a moment, Hermione considered giving in. She'd open her arms and Draco would collapse into them. He'd apologise some more and pepper her with kisses.

But as appealing as that seemed, she just wasn't ready.

"Draco, I need you to go. I… I can't be around you right now."

Draco looked as though he was going to cry for a moment, but he nodded and turned to leave instead.

"Just—take care of yourself, okay, Hermione?" he said before disappearing into the hallway. A few seconds later later, Hermione heard the door to their little flat open and close.

Silently, with heavy limbs, Hermione gathered all the letters and placed them back in Draco's trunk, neatly and tucked into the back corner like before. Then, feeling suddenly very tired, Hermione curled up in the middle of their bed and cried herself to sleep.

* * *

**So... Hermione knows about the threats now. **

**In The Gift of Joy, Hermione kept her pregnancy secret. Now, Draco has kept a big secret as well. **

**These two have grown a lot, but still have much growing to do. **

**Also, thank you all so, so much for the uptick in reviews with the last chapter. It means more than I can say. For much of this story (maybe it's because it's a sequel, maybe it's because it deals with some hard topics/squicks) I haven't been getting nearly the same amount of feedback that I got with The Gift of Joy, so it kind of felt like I was throwing the story out into the void, despite the number of views. Anywho, the point is, I appreciate and love you all. **

**Until next time!**


	17. Chapter 17

**Hi, I'm BiscuitsForPotter, and I'm on an angst kick this week for some reason? First Subtle Perfection, now this. **

**Thanks as always to MsMerlin Graceful Lioness. **

**TW FOR THIS CHAPTER: MISCARRIAGE.**

**If you want to skip some pretty strong angst, you can hop back when I publish chapter 19.**

* * *

Draco gave her space for the rest of that Saturday. As they prepared for bed that night, he told her that he had spent the day in the library, preparing notes to begin reviewing for NEWTs. She didn't say much back, merely reminding him of their antenatal appointment the next morning.

"I'm excited to see Scorpius again," he said into the dark after Hermione had turned the lights off with her wand. "I wonder how big he's gotten."

Hermione traced the outline of her bump with her palms. She expected he would start kicking in an hour or so. He was turning out to be a night owl, her little Scorpius.

She would have voiced these musings to Draco, but right now, she just didn't have the heart to. Instead, she turned her body to face away from him, closed her eyes, and hoped that sleep would carry her into tomorrow soon.

The next day dawned with the usual beauty that accompanied such spring mornings. Draco took care of Shiloh when she started babbling over the monitoring charm he had placed on his wand, and for that at least, she was grateful.

Their appointment with the St. Mungo's mediwitch was set for ten o'clock, which gave them enough time to eat in the Great Hall and get Shiloh settled with Neville. Though he had been nervous to watch Shiloh on his own for several months, he had recently taken a shine to her, and was eager to show her around the Hogwarts greenhouses.

Hermione managed to roll out of bed a few minutes after Draco. Lacking the energy for a shower, she pulled on a comfortable deep violet jumper and some jeans before tying her hair up. Draco walked in a few minutes later with Shiloh on his hip and dressed for the day. He threw on a jumper of his own and a pair of trousers before they headed down to breakfast.

The air between the two of them was stale. Hermione could tell that Draco was waiting until she spoke first, but she just didn't feel like it. Not yet, at least. Not while the wounds were still fresh. She knew it was immature, but she just couldn't help the feeling of betrayal that crept up her throat every time she thought of the letters stuffed in the depths of Draco's trunk.

Breakfast passed quickly enough. Hermione sat across from Ginny, and she half-listened as the redhead rambled boisterously about Quidditch strategies for the upcoming match against Hufflepuff. Draco sat beside her, encouraging Shiloh to eat some slices of banana.

Neither said a word to each other.

By the time they passed Shiloh off to Neville, it was nearly time to head to the Hospital Wing. Hermione kissed Shiloh's forehead and then walked slightly ahead of Draco, her gait stiff as she made her way to her appointment.

Draco cleared his throat as they approached the familiar double doors. "Are you, erm, nervous?" he asked, his hands shoved in his pockets.

Hermione shrugged. "I don't think so. It's just another check-up."

Draco reached out and grabbed the handle. "Okay. Well then, are you excited?"

Hermione paused as the Hospital Wing doors swung open. Was she excited? She wasn't exactly sure. With her last pregnancy, there had been so much fear and uncertainty surrounding it all, there hadn't been much room for excitement.

This time around, was that what she was supposed to be feeling?

She supposed she was looking forward to having Scorpius. She had started rubbing her belly more often lately, feeling for his kicks and imagining the little boy he would become: blond hair like his father's, perhaps. She'd like that. Maybe he'd inherit her chocolate eyes to make him a perfect blend of her and Draco. And his smile… would it be sweet like hers or a sharp smirk like Draco's? The more she considered Scorpius, the more curious she became. Draco would surely try to get him interested in Quidditch from his infancy onward. She could only imagine that in a few years' time, he would likely be flying around whatever home they lived in, crashing into tables, constantly requiring healing charms. But he'd also be her little boy—her little son. Hermione hoped that he would be affectionate, loving to sit on her lap and read books. She could almost see his sweet little face looking up at her, a cheeky grin on his face.

'Just one more page, Mama?' he would ask.

Naturally, she would oblige.

Imagining a future with her son—her family, _did _make her heart quiver. It brought to life butterflies in her stomach, but was that truly excitement?

She wasn't sure.

"I suppose... yeah. I'm excited." Hermione forced herself to keep her voice steady. Her lips twitched on her face in what she hoped was a natural-looking smile. She didn't want to let him know how uncertain she felt, especially not knowing how he would react if he knew the true depth of her doubt.

"Me too." A giddy smile already spread across his face. "I'm really excited."

After their argument yesterday, Hermione wasn't sure how he could smile so freely, but she chose not to question it as they entered.

Madam Pomfrey was waiting for them beside a curtained-off area of the Hospital Wing. Hermione's stomach lurched as she recognized the curtains. They were the same ones that had surrounded her bed nearly a year ago when she had given birth to Shiloh.

Hermione had seen these pale yellow, slightly textured curtains countless times, of course. Some had surrounded her when she'd been petrified during her second year. Merlin knew they'd been used for Harry more times than she could count. But looking at them now, the only memory that fell to the forefront of her mind was the trauma of her daughter's birth.

These curtains… they didn't leave her with a good feeling.

"Ah, good morning Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy. Healer Bennett is just inside here." Madam Pomfrey gestured to the curtains. "She'll be conducting your scan this morning." She opened the curtains and they all entered, revealing a young witch witch in lime green robes robes. She turned to face them as they entered.

"Hullo. You must be Miss Granger. And Mr. Malfoy? It's a pleasure to meet you. I just heard Madam Pomfrey say my name already, but I'm Healer Bennett. I'm an obstetric Healer at St. Mungo's and I'm here to conduct your exam today."

Hermione was relieved that this Healer wasn't overly perky. In fact, she seemed quite professional and, dare she say it, likeable. Hermione felt her stomach ease. The tension that had unknowingly been sitting in her shoulders abated.

Had she been tense before?

"I'll just have you hop up here." She motioned to the bed. Hermione obliged, sitting with her legs hanging over the side of the bed. Draco took a seat in the adjacent chair.

"Now, Miss Granger. I'm just going to ask a few questions. Let's start with how you're feeling."

Hermione took a steadying breath before answering. "I've been doing… fine, I guess. I haven't felt out of sorts. I haven't felt sick in a long while and my energy level is all right."

Healer Bennett was jotting down notes on a floating piece of parchment, occasionally looking up with encouraging eyes.

"Your appetite?"

"Fine."

"Any bleeding?"

"No."

"Anything out of the ordinary you'd like to mention before we begin?"

Hermione furrowed her brow. "Not that I can think—oh! Erm, yesterday—" She shot Draco a glance, and he cocked his head to the side. "—yesterday I felt a couple pains in my stomach. Just small ones. They came and went quickly, though."

Healer Bennett frowned. "What were you doing when they happened?"

"Well, the first time I was holding Shiloh, my daughter."

Madam Pomfrey scoffed, wagging a finger in her direction. "Miss Granger, you know you are under the strictest orders not to lift anything more than ten pounds. Your pregnancy is considered high-risk."

Hermione felt her chest tighten at the Hogwarts Matron's scolding.

"Well, we will just see to it that Dad over here does all the heavy lifting from now on," interjected, gesturing toward Draco. "Now, what about the second time you felt pain?"

Hermione's eyes flicked to Draco. She continued on. "It was when I—when I was looking at something that was emotionally painful." Draco's eyes grew wide at her confession.

Healer Bennett offered a sympathetic smile. "Well, I'll be happy to give you and your little one—we're having a little chap, I see! Have you picked out a name yet?" she asked with warmth in her voice.

"Scorpius," Draco piped up. "We'll be calling him Scorpius."

"Well then," said the healer, pulling out her wand. "I'll be happy to give both you and Scorpius a thorough lookover."

Hermione did as directed and laid down on the bed after unbuttoning her trousers and rolling up her jumper. She had been through this procedure a handful of times now, and knew the routine. When she was set in place, Draco scooted the chair close to her head and offered her his hand.

As upset as she was at him, she still took his hand. His palm was warm as it enveloped hers, and she felt a familiar comfort rush over her. Turning her head toward Draco, she took immediate notice of the giddy grin on his face.

He was already so in love with Scorpius, and it was so apparent, so contagious. Hermione couldn't help the smile that spread across her cheeks.

"All right, you two. Let's take a look at your little Scorpius, shall we?"

Hermione waited with bated breath as Healer Bennett cast the charm over Hermione's belly. Instantly, an image flickered to life over the bump. There, hovering just inches above her was something that, for the first time, really looked like a baby.

She could see his head, his tummy, even his spine. She saw fingers and toes, and _oh,_ how she loved him. Warmth spread through her body, and all her fears—all her doubts, they simply fell away. She loved this boy just as she loved her daughter. She saw a future with him, and longed to hold him in her arms in four and a half short months. She could already picture smelling his sweet scent as he nursed on a quiet fall morning.

How was that possible, for something as simple as an _image_ to alleviate her fear and apprehension?

And yet it was entirely possible, because in that tiny moment she really, truly knew. Her little Scorpius Nathaniel—her little boy. Like Draco, she knew right then that she loved him unequivocally, unabashedly, forever.

Hermione stared, mesmerized by the image.

There he was, so sweet. In an instant, she saw the little boy riding on a broomstick through the house. She saw him sitting on her lap to read—saw him gently rocked to sleep in her arms. It was all there, so clear in her mind for the very first time. Hermione couldn't stop the grin on her face from widening. Her cheeks hurt from smiling so much.

And then her eyes flicked to the Healer.

She was not smiling. In fact, she looked… concerned.

Any inch of joy inside Hermione evaporated immediately, and was replaced with a dread she had only felt once before. She had felt it here, in this very room, nearly a year ago, when Shiloh had been born blue and silent.

Of course, Madam Pomfrey had been able to get her to breathe. She had taken a great gulp of air and cried her first cry, and with that, Hermione felt born anew, herself.

But this… Hermione wasn't sure how it was different, but this dread was somehow deeper, more tenacious. Her stomach felt as though it was filled with choppy waves, churning a storm inside of her.

Draco, it seemed, had noticed Healer Bennet's face as well.

Hermione swallowed and searched for her voice. "Is—is everything okay?"

Healer Bennett offered a half-smile in return. "Just a moment."

She moved to the other side of the bed and waved her wand over Hermione's stomach in a complicated pattern Hermione watched her expression. Her eyebrows were furrowed in concentration and her frown was growing deeper every second. Worry lines appeared on her forehead.

It was only then that Hermione realized what was missing. It was something that had been present at all of her other antenatal appointments, both Muggle and magical. The familiar whooshing sound of the baby's heartbeat was conspicuously absent, the air instead filled with palpable silence. It buzzed around her, pressing down like an unwelcome burden on her chest.

Mouth dry and tongue heavy, Hermione asked the one question she didn't want to. The one question she had to.

"Where is his heartbeat?"

The Healer lowered her wand, though the image of Scorpius remained.

Healer Bennett sighed, but didn't look away. She didn't speak for a moment; the furrow in her brow told Hermione that she might be searching for the right words. Reaching out, the Healer laid a hand on Hermione's arm in what was supposed to be a comforting way, but it only made Hermione's breathing spiked. She didn't have to know Occlumency to know what the Healer was doing—how she was preparing Hermione for news no expecting parent wanted to hear.

When words finally left her lips, her tone was soft and full of sympathy. Hermione's stomach was filled with churning dread.

"I'm afraid, Miss Granger, that there is no heartbeat."

_No heartbeat._

The words rang in her ears until they meshed into one horrific melody. Her world felt as if it were spinning too fast and yet frozen at the same time. Her stomach lurched, twisting into a painful knot and distantly, she could make out Draco jumping from his chair, talking—no, yelling something, but she couldn't hear a thing over the cacophony of what felt like her world coming to an end.

Hermione looked up to the image of Scorpius floating in the air, unmoving. Almost as if he were asleep as opposed to...

How had she not noticed?

When was the last time he had kicked?

She'd felt him kick last night… hadn't she? She was sure he had.

When had he gone from alive and well inside of her to... to…

Had it been when she felt those pains?

When she picked Shiloh up? When she almost ripped up her parents' letter?

Was it her fault her son was… was...

She couldn't even bring herself to think it.

"—I'm so sorry, Mr. Malfoy, but at this point there's nothing that can be done to save your son. What we can do is discuss next steps... When you're ready, of course." The Healer was speaking calmly to Draco, who appeared to be hyperventilating, tears falling freely down his cheeks.

Seeing his despair only made her vaguely aware that not even a single tear leaked from her eyes.

"Next steps? What do you mean _next steps_?" He was shaking his head back and forth.

"Well, Mr. Malfoy," said Madam Pomfrey with a gentle tone. "Miss Granger cannot continue to carry your son."

Through the fog of her sudden onslaught of grief, a familiar, comforting voice emerged. It was the voice that so often dominated her actions. The one that helped her push through stress and sadness. It was the voice that told her that if she looked at things logically, taking them one step at a time, that things would be okay.

Hermione had no idea how she did it, honestly—no idea how she pushed through the trauma—but even though her mind saw swirling and her heart was crumbling, she found a sense of control in moving forward.

"What do I have to do?" Hermione's voice cracked. Everyone's head whipped to face her, eyes wide, jaws hanging open. She clenched her jaw. "What do you recommend?"

"Hermione—can't they—can't we have a minute?" Draco pleaded, grasping one of her hands in his tightly.

Hermione shook her head. "I want to talk about it."

Healer Bennett looked briefly between her and Draco before speaking. "Well, at your son's gestation, it's advised that we medically induce labour. We can give you potions to make it less painful."

"So she'll have to give birth?" Draco breathed, horror in every syllable.

Healer Bennett nodded. "You're welcome to take some time to process this news, but I would advise that we induce you within the next seventy-two hours. I am not sure how long it's been since your son passed, and risk of infection steadily increases with time."

The Healer's words seemed to hit Draco hard. He wilted a bit, sinking into his chair.

Hermione turned back to the unmoving image of her son.

Her son was… _dead_.

As much as she had feared her second pregnancy—as much as she had felt sadness and despair at the thought of welcoming another child that she didn't feel prepared for—the thought of suddenly losing her belly, losing the anticipation of seeing him ride on a broomstick or reading to him—that feeling was so much worse.

She didn't want to lose him.

Didn't want to say goodbye.

She wasn't ready.

But would she ever be?

Somehow, the thought of carrying him around inside of her when she knew he wasn't there anymore—not really there, anyway, that was the worst of all.

"I want to do it now," Hermione said with a strength in her voice she didn't know she possessed. "I want you to induce me now."

Draco leaned forward, confusion covering his whole face. "Hermione, don't you—want to take time?"

Hermione shook her head and felt the pricks of tears burn in the corner of her eyes. "I can't_,"_ she whispered. "I just _can't."_

The rest of what Healer Bennett and Madam Pomfrey did became a blur in Hermione's memory. She vaguely remembered pain in her abdomen, though she had several potions tipped down her throat. She recalled Draco by her side, crying.

She remembered crying, too. She remembered the feeling of hot, salty tears pouring down her face.

Everything else was hazy.

All Hermione truly knew was that nearly a year after she had given birth to her healthy daughter, she gave birth to her dead son in the same bed.

Hermione insisted they attend Teddy's party the following weekend. She wanted to be there for Harry and Andromeda and of course, little Teddy. After confirming for the tenth time that she really wanted to go, Draco wrapped the toy owl they had purchased.

After recovering in bed for most of the week, Hermione was ready to get up and move about. Sitting still made her restless. She needed to do something. To distract herself from the distant ache of her empty womb with no baby in her arms.

Perhaps, she reasoned, if she did something, then she might feel something other than the weight of the last few days.

The day before the party, Hermione stood in front of the dresser of drawers where she kept her clothes. Taking hold of the handle on the far left drawer, she pulled it open.

This particular drawer was filled with the charmed maternity wardrobe Draco had insisted on purchasing for her when she entered her second trimester. It had been an expensive purchase—clothes that were designed to grow with the witch as she did. Hermione had only just started to wear some of the items, and she had to admit, they had been far more comfortable than the Hogwarts standard issue uniforms, which were much harder to charm.

But now, five days after losing Scorpius, she didn't need them any more.

She was already close to fitting back into that standard issue skirt. She only needed an extension charm on the waistband now.

Looking at herself in the mirror made her sick.

Hermione didn't want to look at these clothes anymore—didn't want to look at this drawer and think about what could have been.

Instead, she folded each item neatly and packed them all away in her trunk, underneath her heaviest winter jumpers. That way, she wouldn't have to see them for months.

The thing that was much harder to hide were her breasts.

Much to her dismay, she had begun to leak only one day afterward. It was so painful sometimes that she had to bite her lip and close her eyes to distract herself. She had to let her milk dry out, and the process broke her heart all over again. Each time she saw the milk, she wanted to cry.

And she had.

She had cried so much in the last few days, she was sure that her eyes would run dry.

The one thing Hermione had to be grateful for was that Shiloh hadn't seen her grief. After it was all over, Draco had the solemn duty of informing their classmates what had happened. Many had volunteered to care for Shiloh for a few days. Hermione was fairly certain she had been staying with Ginny.

It had been a relief at first, not to have a little person to care for in the wake of their loss. But as the days passed, Hermione missed her daughter more and more. Missed the feel of her little body snuggled against hers, missed the smell of her hair and the lilt of her babbling.

When Draco retrieved her before the party, Hermione felt a bout of relief fill her body. As he carried her through the portrait hole and into the eighth year common room, she immediately reached out, crying, "Ma! Ma!"

Hermione wanted to cry, but she plastered a smile on her face instead.

"Hello, darling," she said, her voice shaky. "How is Mumma's little pixie?"

For the first time in months, Hermione picked Shiloh up without fear, holding her securely in her arms. Shiloh clung to her, her tiny arms wrapping around Hermione's neck. It felt soothing to hold her daughter again. It felt right. Shiloh was a balm to her aching soul.

And yet, when she looked past Shiloh's shoulder at Draco, who stood in the doorway, he remained somber as ever.

Not once in the days following the loss had they talked about what happened. Draco helped her perform simple daily tasks and asked the required questions about her health, but other than that, he hadn't said much at all.

Instead of offering looks of support and of love, the only feeling radiating from him these days was anger.

He was due to erupt any day, that much Hermione knew. But she prayed to the Founders that it could at least wait until after Teddy's party.

Shiloh in her arms and Teddy's present tucked into her beaded bag, she and Draco stepped through the Floo and spun until they landed in Andromeda's sitting room.

The first thing she noticed upon arrival was all the decorations. Harry and Andromeda had done a bang-up job. The entire room was covered in miniature floating Quidditch balls and draped in hues of blue and green.

The second thing she noticed was all the stares. There were so many familiar faces at the party—Weasleys, of course, and a handful of Order members. There were a handful of people Hermione didn't recognize—perhaps Andromeda's friends or members of Ron and Harry's training cohort. But one thing was for certain as she stepped into the room: they all knew what had happened last weekend.

"Hermione! Draco! So glad you could make it," called Harry from across the room, setting down a bottle of butterbeer to come over and greet them. He was sporting a blue, pointed birthday hat and a newly-grown beard. As he approached, he offered a clap on the back to Draco and a hug to Hermione. As his arms enveloped her frame, he dropped his chin to her shoulder and whispered words that broke her heart. "I'm so, so sorry, Hermione. Is there anything I can do?"

Hermione fought tears for the sixth time today. "No, that's okay," her voice quaked as she shook her head. "I just want to enjoy Teddy's party."

Harry nodded and squeezed her one more time. "And how's my favorite niece?" he asked, brushing his hands against Shiloh's cheek. "She's so big now," he marveled.

"It's hard to believe she'll be turning one so soon," Hermione admitted. She turned to Draco in an attempt to involve him. "Isn't that right, love?"

Draco grunted. "Yes. Very hard to believe."

Hermione had just enough time to see anger brewing in his eyes before an older, female voice sounded from the kitchen. "Right, you lot! Everyone's here, so it's time for cake!"

Everyone gathered in the center of the room, where Teddy was strapped into a high chair. His turquoise locks had grown quite long, and were curling at the nape of his neck. Hermione stood beside Draco as Harry crossed the room to be beside his godson at this momentous occasion.

They all serenaded the little boy, and he began to smash cake into his face almost immediately. Harry snapped countless pictures while the crowd watched adoringly.

When the mess was all cleared away and Harry hoisted Teddy into his arms, the little boy caught sight of Draco for the first time.

Instantly, his hair turned platinum blonde.

Hermione felt all the muscles in her body go limp as her heart alone constricted. She couldn't breathe.

There, in Harry's arms, Teddy nearly looked like Scorpius, just as she imagined he might be. Bright and smiling, dimpled and happy.

But he wasn't Scorpius, her brain scolded her. He was Teddy. He was Harry's godson. Remus and Tonks's son.

He wasn't her son.

Her son was gone.

Beside her, Hermione heard the tinkling of smashed glass. Draco had thrown a small telescope that had been sitting on the mantle through the sitting room window. He now stood, seething, in the middle of the floor, his chest heaving and his whole body shaking. In his eyes, Hermione saw so much pain that she could have sworn she felt some of it, herself.

Teddy, who had been focused on Draco, began to cry.

Everyone was staring. Someone was whispering.

This was not the birthday party she wanted for Teddy.

This was not the reality she wanted for herself—for Draco—for their family.

Silently, Ron stepped forward and hoisted Shiloh from her arms. In a hushed tone that was surprisingly full of understanding, he said, "I've got her."

Hermione nodded and turned to Draco, who was still in the throes of a near-meltdown. When she placed a hand on the small of his back, he jumped.

"Come on," she said quietly. "I think we need to talk."

He followed her, still shaking, to a back bedroom. Andromeda's. The flowery duvet contrasted heavily with their mood.

As soon as Hermione was sure the door was locked and Muffliato had been cast, she turned to face Draco. She took a deep breath, preparing herself for the long-overdue and likely painful conversation they were about to have.

* * *

**Aaaaand there we are. I'm so sorry. I've known since the beginning (obviously) that this was going to happen. But I swear to you, they'll heal. **

**Such hard things our bbs are going through. **

**Again, to reiterate what was said above, the next chapter is SUPER heavy on angst. **

**Take care of yourselves, dear readers. **


	18. Chapter 18

**Last chapter was hard. ****Here's the fallout. Told from Draco's POV, it's not pretty. Graceful Lioness is still angry about it. **

**So... brace yourselves? Grief doesn't come out in pretty ways for some people. **

**MsMerlin and Graceful Lioness are my heroes for this fic.**

* * *

Nothing had been the same from the moment that Healer gave them the news.

For Draco, it had been like the Earth had stopped spinning; like all the magic had gone from the world, drained away to some dark, faraway place. Everything felt harsher, now. Colder. Yet at the same time, he was numb to it all. Days had passed like this. He simply went through the motions of life, unaware of what was really going on around him.

The alternative—feeling something, _anything_—was just too much.

At night, when he wasn't able to put a shield around his mind and his heart, is when he heard it.

His son's heartbeat.

It was always steady, strong and beating a rapid staccato. That's how his dreams always started, anyway. But then the thump of the heartbeat would begin to move away, just out of his reach. It was then that he always filled with panic. In a frenzy, he'd follow the sound down corridor after corridor, calling out for Scorpius, his own heart pounding inside his chest.

He turned corners, sprinting, his lungs on fire. If he only ran a little more, went just a tiny bit farther, he knew so clearly that he'd see his son alive somehow, heart beating again.

But his dreams always ended the same way.

The heartbeat faded.

Draco was left alone, frantically searching for a sound that was no longer there—for his son, who was gone from the world and would never come back.

Draco had woken up from this exact nightmare every night since they lost Scorpius. He was always coated in a cold sweat, limbs heavy and face covered in the vestiges of tears.

Sleep would elude him after.

In those quiet hours, he laid awake in the dark beside his sleeping girlfriend, wondering how everything could be the same as before, and yet completely changed.

That's when the anger usually came.

Anger at the world, for taking his son.

Anger at himself.

Anger at Hermione.

It was usually small at first, like a freshly lit match sparking to life in the pit of his stomach. But in the middle of the night, vulnerable and raw, his whole body turned to kindling, lighting his entirety ablaze from head to toe.

That was exactly what happened when he saw little Teddy turn his hair blonde. He had been trying so hard to act _normal_, to pretend that everything was okay. And it was all going well enough until he saw the ghost of his son sitting there, right in front of him.

In an instant, the rage that had been sitting just below the surface tipped, and he was aflame with an anger so intense that it boiled over into his hands. Without stopping to think, he grabbed the first thing he saw—a brass telescope on the mantle—and lobbed it out of the nearest window.

Only when the crash of smashed glass reached his ears did he realize what he had done.

All eyes were on him, not for the first time since the war. In any other situation he might have felt heat creep up the nape of his neck or curled into himself, but this time was different.

Everything was different now.

Somehow he and Hermione ended up in a room alone, the door locked and silenced.

He didn't want to be with Hermione right now. In the state he was in, he knew he wouldn't be able to bite his tongue, to stop himself from saying all the cruel thoughts that were whipping around his head.

What concerned him more was the voice inside his head that wanted him to say all those things to her—that wanted to see her hurting as much as he was.

Standing three feet away from him, Hermione had her arms wrapped around her middle. Her eyes pleaded with him from the moment the door snapped shut.

"Draco, what's going on?" He watched her brows furrow with concern under nervously blinking eyes. "Why are you so angry? I know you're hurting. I'm hurting too, but we can't destroy Andromeda's house."

"Why am I angry? _Are you serious?_" Draco felt himself start to shake, first at his fingertips. Before he could get another word out, his whole body was vibrating. When he began speaking, the words came out in a rush, like water trapped behind a dam for too long. "_You're_ hurt? You have no right to be hurting, Hermione! You made the decision to get rid of our son without even blinking an eye. You never even asked if I needed more time to think—to process. You just went right on ahead and did what you wanted. Did you ever stop to think that maybe _I_ wasn't ready to say goodbye yet? That maybe _I_ needed a little time?"

Hermione, at least, had the audacity to look ashamed. Her eyes widened, as though she was only _now _privy to his sorrow. She hung her head, and her face had gone slightly green. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I didn't stop to think—"

"That's right. You didn't."

"I just… I couldn't bear the thought of carrying him inside of me anymore… knowing he was gone."

If Draco had been more clear-headed, perhaps this would have struck a chord with him. Perhaps he would have paused to think about his next sentence, but his brain was so fogged with fury that her words merely washed over him. "Well he wouldn't be gone if it hadn't been for you."

This, it seemed, struck a nerve. Hermione's head snapped up, and behind the tears welling in her eyes, he saw fire. "Excuse me?"

Draco sneered. "If you hadn't been so bloody reckless, ignoring Healer's orders and picking Shiloh up when they clearly told you not to, we'd still have Scorpius! None of this would have ever happened and I wouldn't feel like breaking something when I see Teddy fucking Lupin."

He saw the redness in her eyes, the downward tug of her lips as she fought back angry tears. He saw how her jaw clenched as she stared at him with something caught between confusion and horror and rage and it felt _good_.

Hermione squared her shoulders. "How da—"

"How hard would it have been to not pick her up? I was carrying everything! Doing _everything_ to help you, and I was happy to do it! And yet you still had to go be a bloody independent witch who can't let others take care of you.

"That's your problem, you know? Just like a Gryffindor. You think you know everything—think you know what people want and that with a little bit of bloody courage, you can do anything. Well, you _can't."_

Draco paused to breathe and to give Hermione a once-over. He needed to know that she was hearing him—was understanding just how wrong she had been. She needed to feel as hurt as he did.

He kept pushing. He wanted her to break. To feel broken. Just like him.

"You were just the same with Shiloh, weren't you? Running around in a bloody tent for months while you were pregnant. And the dragon!" Draco heard a hollow laugh escape from his throat. He didn't recognize the sound. It tasted strange on his tongue, but he pressed on. "Don't even get me started on that bloody dragon! And wanting to fight at Hogwarts with her still inside you?" He was past hysteria now, his arms in the air, every muscle in his body pulled taut. It was as though he couldn't stop the deluge of words spilling out of his mouth.

In front of him, he watched as Hermione shrunk in on herself, her shoulders hunching as she drew her arms into her chest.

"You know, the more I think about it, the more I see that you've always been this way, haven't you? Reckless. Selfish. Hell, it's why you erased your parents' memories, wasn't it? You thought you could do anything, and now? Now it's come back to bite you, hasn't it? They don't want anything to do with you any more. They're scared of you. They think you're a _monster_."

Draco took a step toward Hermione. She began to back up, but there was nowhere for her to go. Inside, he felt every organ ignite with rage and a grim sense of satisfaction. He sneered, his body looming over hers.

"But I don't think you're a monster, Granger. Oh, no. You just think you know everything. You think you're better than everyone. But you're not. You're just a small, damaged _Mudblood_ who should know her place!"

His words echoed in the airy bedroom. It felt cathartic to put all his pain out there, to let it fly around like a swarm of angry Billywigs. The tightness that had been inside of his chest dissipated into thin air, and the mind that had been so clogged by rage now flowed freely, allowing for other emotions to peek inside. And they did flow in. Relief. Sadness. Glee.

That weight was gone, and for the first time in weeks he was beginning to feel free from the burden of pain—_almost._

In the silence that followed, the vestiges of his words filled the room like the deep, lingering clang of a mighty bell. But unlike a bell, whose rich tones filled vicinities with warmth and life, the room around Draco only vibrated with misery.

The anger within him was no longer a fiery inferno, but rather, a pile of ashen embers.

He had needed this—needed to get his frustrations out. It was with a much clearer head that he now looked at Hermione.

The look on her face was enough to smother any remaining embers of anger he felt.

Hermione was the one shaking now.

Though it seemed, not from anger, but from something else. Her eyes were wide and watery and filled some emotion Draco couldn't properly identify.

It wasn't until he saw the first tear fall that he realised he had made a grave mistake.

One tear trailing down her cheek turned into a rainfall, but Hermione never scrunched her eyes or turned away from him. Instead, she stood before him, frozen, eyes wide and face flushed. Only then did Draco recognize the look on her face.

Disgust. Vitriol. Fear.

Draco retraced his words and felt a sharp pang of horror when he arrived at the turn of phrase that had made her look at him this way.

The way she used to look at him.

_You're just a small, damaged Mudblood who should know her place._

Shit. He hadn't meant to—

She had to know—

"Hermione—" he began, panic rising in his chest. "I didn't—"

"How could _you_?"

Betrayal bled from her voice, cold and painful, tainting every syllable until all he could hear was how utterly disgusted she was with him. She grit her teeth as she spoke, tears still dripping along the edges of her lips.

She was hurt. That much was clear.

He had wanted to hurt her. He'd just wanted her to feel the same pain he felt. But this—this didn't feel good at all. Instead, a pit in his stomach had grown where fire had burned just moments before; and it grew deeper with each second that passed.

Deafening silence stretched between them, but even looking at her—watching those melancholy tears leave trails down her rosy cheeks felt too painful to bear witness to. And he could only imagine what she thought of him—a coward. Weak. A traitor. All the things he'd fought against.

Hermione looked away from his face, finding a spot on the wall to stare at instead. When she finally began to speak, her voice shook so much that it was almost unrecognizable.

"I didn't want Scorpius at first." Draco watched Hermione swallow—watched her clench her fists before she kept going. "I was terrified to have a second child so soon. When we went to that first appointment, I somehow had it in my head that we were on the same page—that maybe we weren't ready. That we were still healing and adjusting to our new life."

Hermione hugged her middle as she spoke. Draco hated how flat her abdomen was… how emptiness replaced what once held life meer weeks earlier. "And when Madam Pomfrey told us about my uterus and his placenta and the risks I would undertake by carrying him, I'm not going to lie—I wanted to end the pregnancy right then.

"But you—you were in love from the moment Madam Pomfrey told us we were having a boy. You were so damn excited. I hadn't seen you that excited—that sure about anything in so long. Nearly everything you've done since your trial has been done with trepidation and fear. But not when you saw our son." Hermione turned her head back to face him. By now, only pain remained in her eyes. "So I did what I shouldn't have, and I gave in. I chose to accept the pregnancy."

Draco searched her face for any trace of a lie, but there wasn't one.

"Part of me wishes that I hadn't given in that day. That I would have gone with my gut and ended the pregnancy before we could get attached to him. Because that would have hurt, but not like this. It wouldn't have felt like the world was ending. But you can't see that, can you, Draco?"

A part of him wanted to ask what he couldn't see, but Hermione continued on, her voice sometimes dipping into such a shaky place that he could hardly understand her. But another part of him hadn't heard much past the part where she had wanted to get rid of Scorpius from the beginning. Her words were stoking the ashes inside of him bit by bit, and he felt his breathing slowly grow heavier as she continued to speak.

"I'm hurting, Draco. It hurts so much, just to go on. I—I'm already so small again, it's like he was never there at all. He has no birth certificate. We never bought him any toys or clothes. The only way anyone can tell that Scorpius ever existed is because of my damn breasts leaking all over the place. Every time I look in the mirror, I want to cry."

Real tears were falling down Hermione's cheeks again. Draco wanted to reach out and wipe them away, to wrap his arms around her, but the fire in his belly stopped him from stretching across the chasm between them.

"Out of all people, I wanted _you _to be the one to look me in the eye and tell me that it's all going to be okay. But ever since that day, you've just been so cold and far away. And now you've found it somewhere within yourself to call me a… to call me a _M-Mudblood_?"

Drado didn't miss when her hand wrapped around the place he knew her scar to be. She began begging then, desperation in the fine lines of her forehead and the crinkle of her eyes.

"What's happened to you, Draco? I know you're in pain, but can't you see that we both are? I need you, Draco. I need the _real_ you—the man I love. Not the wounded animal who's trying to drag me down so low I can't get up again."

Draco watched as Hermione pleaded with everything she had for him to be the good man she thought he was. And he wanted to be that person, he really did. But there was something inside of him—something that was growing exponentially, cancerous and callous; it didn't want Draco to take back his cruelties. In fact, it wanted him to spit out more.

As Hermione looked at him, he saw a glint of hope still lingering in her eye. Oh, how he wanted to hold on to it.

But he couldn't. And as he felt cruelty rise up within him, quashing any empathy he had left for the woman pleading before him, he came to a singular, horrible realization: this was always how it was meant to be. He had done too many terrible things in his life to deserve anything good.

Not Hermione.

Not Scorpius.

Not even his daughter.

This was his destiny—to drive himself to loneliness through his own cruelty.

He opened his mouth to speak, unable to stop himself from digging further into that pit of self deprecation he was certain was where he belonged.

"I don't know how I can even stand to look at you, when you never wanted our son." It was wrong—logically, Draco _knew_ what he said wasn't true but he couldn't stop himself. It was almost as if he felt like if he hurt her enough then maybe she'd leave and he'd spare her the pain of being with someone so utterly fucked up. "You're glad he's gone, aren't you?"

Draco had never seen Hermione break before. In his mind's eye, she was an impenetrable fortress of a woman, ceaselessly capable and strong. Even as children, he had never seen her truly lose herself to sadness or anger.

He saw her break now.

She crumbled.

He saw it first in her eyes. They went wide as the last of his words fell from his lips. Not long after, her lip began to tremble, followed by her whole body. When she opened her mouth, as though trying to speak to him again, no sound came out. Her legs buckled under her after that, and she fell to her knees as though she was wilting. She buried her face in her hands as she began to sob, great lung-rattling breaths punctuating her tears.

And while he did feel a sharp stab of pity, he didn't say a single comforting word. Instead, all he got out was this: "I can't even stand to look at you."

Leaving her crumpled on the floor of Andromeda's bedroom, Draco whipped his wand from its holster and undid the charms. The door flew open and he emerged into the party. Everyone was still gathered around Teddy, who was opening presents with Harry's help. He spotted Shiloh in Ginny Weasley's lap. Good. She could stay here for now. Safe. Away from the anger he suddenly couldn't control.

"Going so soon?" Andromeda asked as he approached the Floo. "Where's Hermione?"

"She'll be out in a moment, I'm sure," he said cooly, a familiar mask of apathy hiding all emotion. "I need to get going."

Though he felt eyes on him and a push from Potter to explain himself, he couldn't bring himself to care. He grabbed a handful of powder, cast it onto the flames, and returned to Hogwarts in a swirl of color and fire.

Anger still flickered inside of him like the flames in the common room fireplace as he stepped through. The room was largely deserted, leaving most of the chairs and couches empty. Only a few people were there, huddled together in a group of chairs closer to the portrait hole. Goldstein. MacMillan. Abbott. The rest of their classmates were likely outside, enjoying the lovely April weather.

Draco was glad for the nearly-empty common room. It meant he didn't have to talk to anyone. Without acknowledging the wave and greeting of, "Hey," from Goldstein, Draco began to cross the room, shoulders hunched and fists clenched. He needed to be alone—needed time to ride out his anger.

Draco had nearly reached the stairs when he noticed another occupant of the room. Tucked in a chair near the stairs, this person was clearly not a part of the other gathering. As Draco drew closer, his blood ran cold when he realized exactly who it was.

_Blaise. _

This was the bastard who had put them in this situation—the one who was responsible for months of frustration and anxiety. And for what? His own sick pleasure? A desire to ruin his family's lives?

Draco froze in the middle of the common room, eye strained on the dark figure reclining in the armchair by the stairs, feet dangling over an armrest, face relaxed and nonchalant. He seemed blissfully unaware of the pain he had caused.

Draco saw red.

How _dare_ he have the audacity to just sit and read without a care in the world, as though it were of no consequence to him that his actions had caused so much turmoil. The part of his brain that considered the consequences of his actions vanished, leaving behind the impulsive, dangerous side of him he rarely gave into.

Without thinking of anything but the hatred he felt toward his former friend, Draco stalked across the common room until he stood knee-to-knee with Blaise.

The dark-skinned boy peered over the top of his book. He looked almost bored. This only stoked the flames within Draco even more.

"What is it, Draco?" he drawled, eyes returning to his book. "Can't you see I'm busy?"

Draco could have killed him right then and there. Pulled out his wand and Avada'd him and watched his body slump to the floor. It would have been satisfying.

He was tempted to do it, too. But thoughts of another dank cell kept him from taking that course.

Instead, Draco punched him.

His fist made contact with Blaise's face, and Draco heard a sickening crunch beneath his knuckles; he had broken something—likely his nose. _Good. _

"What the _fuck_, Draco?" Blaise screeched, leaping to his feet as he grabbed at his nose, blood pouring down his face and dripping onto his robes.

"That's what you get for sending all those fucking threats." Draco was practically feral now, his teeth bared and his lip curled. "Telling me to rot is one thing. I don't give a toss about myself, but telling me that my daughter deserves to be at the bottom of the Black Lake? Calling Hermione a Death Eater's whore? How fucking dare you!"

Blaise's eyebrows had drawn together, his whole body frozen as blood dripped freely onto the rug at their feet.

"I _knew_ it was you. Knew it was you from that first letter back in September." Draco felt his heart pound in his chest, a war drum that only egged him forward. His skin prickled all over as he listened to the call, prepared to go to battle for his family—even if Hermione might not ever come back after what he said… how he left her. Reaching out, Draco jammed his index finger against Blaise' sternum as he spoke through grinding teeth. "Don't think I didn't see the way you kept looking at me. Looking at _us!_ It was written all over your face, how much you were disgusted. And you couldn't just keep it to yourself, could you, Blaise?"

Draco sneered and grabbed Blaise, fisting his shirt and dragging him close enough that the coppery scent of blood overwhelmed his nostrils. Blaise's eyes went wide as Draco dropped his voice to a hiss, every syllable vibrating with hatred.

"It's your fault my son is dead, you know? Hermione wasn't supposed to feel any stress. Wasn't good for her. Wasn't good for the baby. Well guess what? That note you sent last week? Asking us how many would die for our son? Guess what, Blaise? She saw it, and within twenty four hours, our son was dead."

He released Blaise, shoving him back into the armchair.

In the silence that followed, Draco became vaguely aware that the scant other eighth years in the room were staring. Draco glared at them. Abbott looked away. MacMillan went very pale. Goldstein's eyes were the size of saucers.

He rounded on Blaise again. The bastard leaned forward on his knees, mopping up his nose with a transfigured handkerchief. When Blaise looked up, he had a funny expression in his eyes. Was it… sympathy? Annoyance?

Draco couldn't really tell.

The fury that had licked at his insides was beginning to die down. Punching Blaise had helped. But that look in his eyes now… it made Draco's insides twist.

"Look, mate," Blaise set the blood-soaked handkerchief down beside him. "I'm sorry Hermione lost the baby. I really am."

Draco raised his eyebrows. Blaise pushed on, his voice slightly nasally.

"But it wasn't me that sent you those notes. I swear to Merlin. I've been avoiding you all year, yeah. But that's because you fucking ratted my family out to the Ministry for nothing."

A new layer of confusion appeared on top of Draco's anger.. "I did… _what?" _He drew back slightly, blinking. "I didn't rat your family out—what are you talking about?"

"Then why did a squadron of Aurors bang down my front door, rummage through all our stuff, and scare the pants of my mother, claiming they were acting on a tip?" Blaise's voice was calm, though Draco could hear the venom in every syllable. "You had just been released from the Ministry, and don't think I don't know you, Draco. You'd do anything to save your own skin. It wasn't hard to connect the dots."

Draco scrubbed his hands over his face. He didn't know where all this was coming from. "I don't know who gave that tip. But it wasn't me. I wasn't interrogated at all during those three weeks. I just sat alone in a cell until I was dragged up to my hearing."

Blaise frowned, is brow furrowed in thought. "You weren't interrogated?"

"No. It's like I said. It was just me alone in that cell." Draco shook his head and collapsed onto the armchair Blaise had been sitting in. "And besides, I would never sell you out, Blaise. You're my friend. Or, you were… I-I don't know anymore."

It was too much. Just too much.

Draco wanted to cry. But not here. Not like this.

"_Fuck."_ Blaise pinched the bridge of his nose. "Just… fuck."

"Yeah. Fuck."

They stood together in silence. It was the closest they'd been all year, but Draco still felt miles apart from him. From everyone here.

"Look, mate. Whatever look you saw me give you—I'm sorry. I shouldn't have thought you were enough of a bastard to do that to me. You had every right to think it was me sending you those threats. But Draco, I would never, _never_, threaten you or Granger or _your kid_. I may be a shitty bloke, but I'm not evil."

Zabini reached out and patted Draco on the arm. Draco didn't have the strength to swat him away.

Instead he leaned forward and placed his face in his hands. Everything shifted in that moment, and a horrible realization washed over him.

"If it wasn't you, then who was it?" The words came out choked.

"Look, whoever sent you those notes is a fucking wanker. But it wasn't me."

Draco looked Blaise directly in the eye. There was no need for something like Veritaserum to know that he was telling the truth.

Every drop of anger inside of him evaporated, leaving Draco limp and tired. Drained.

He had yelled at Hermione. He had yelled at Blaise. It was supposed to be cathartic—he was supposed to somehow feel lighter now that he had gotten all the anger out of him.

But he didn't.

He just felt heavier than ever.

Draco didn't say anything else to Blaise or the other eighth years as he summoned the rest of his energy to put one foot in front of the other and trudge back up to his flat.

* * *

**This might be the least favorite moment I've ever written for Draco. This is truly rock bottom. A low, low moment. **

**But the good news is that it's only up from here. I swear. THIS was the worst of the worst. **

**Also, some of you have been guessing Blaise... thinking he's been suspicious. Try again! **

**Take care, everyone. **


	19. Chapter 19

**After the ROUGH last chapter, we finally begin to heal. I promise we'll get there. **

**Hopefully this chapter adds a little to the brightness that today already has brought. **

**Major thanks to MsMerlin and Graceful Lioness**

* * *

Over the course of the next week, Draco hardly saw Hermione. She didn't come back to their flat. When he managed to pull Ginny aside in an alcove one morning after breakfast, she revealed that Hermione and Shiloh had been sleeping with the seventh year girls in Gryffindor tower.

He turned his heel and marched down the corridor before she could interrogate him.

A brief stop by the library on Tuesday after the blow-up revealed that Hermione had reserved her usual table and spent all hours sitting there, her nose buried in a colour-coded time table.

Draco found his own table, tucked into a far corner of the library. He couldn't see her from it, but if he took a little stroll every thirty minutes or so, he could peer down an aisle and get a perfect view of her bushy head buried in one volume or another. On one such stroll, he took a chance and dipped right past her table. She was away, likely off visiting the loo or grabbing another text and he took the opportunity to steal a glance at her work.

Amongst the books, he noticed a neat stack of letters that looked nearly ready to be posted. Upon further but brief inspection, he discovered that they were letters of inquiry to various departments at the Ministry of Magic.

If he knew Hermione as well as he thought, then he knew exactly what she was doing.

Keeping busy. Preparing for the future. Trying to think of anything but Scorpius—anything _but_ the life they had begun to imagine for themselves.

He scurried away back to his little corner before she returned.

He was terrified of the moment they would start talking again, terrified to see her expression when they finally came face to face.

Most of all, he was terrified of seeing her eyes.

Would she look at him the way she used to when they were children, eyes narrowed in suspicion, pupils dilated with hatred?

His stomach clenched at the thought.

Had it really been less than two weeks since his life had seemed so easy, his future so solid? Their little flat felt so empty at night, the air far too still for his liking. In the absence of his girlfriend and his daughter, Draco spent his nights pacing in the nursery, regret gnawing at him from the inside out from all of the horrible things he had said to Hermione.

The words played over and over in his head as the clock ticked well past one a.m., two a.m., and beyond.

_They don't want anything to do with you any more. _

_They're scared of you. _

_They think you're a monster._

He had been cruel.

_You have no right to be hurting, Hermione! You made the decision to get rid of our son without even blinking an eye. _

His words had been untrue.

_I don't know how I can even stand to look at you, when you never wanted our son. You're glad he's gone aren't you?_

_You're just a small, damaged Mudblood who should know her place._

The look on her face when those words had slipped out of his mouth… Draco couldn't describe how it had nearly ripped him in two. How it still tore at him, bit by bit, each time he remembered the look of utter betrayal in her eyes.

In the dead quiet of the night, he felt so overwhelmed by regret, stomach roiling, legs buckling, eyes dry from running out of tears, that he had found he couldn't move. Some mornings he woke up on the floor of the nursery, curled in on himself, streaks of long-dried tears painting his face.

Draco didn't know if or how Hermione would ever forgive him—if she even _could_ forgive him.

And the thought of a life without Hermione…

Draco wondered if that would even be a life at all.

Before all of this… before he had said the worst possible things to Hermione… before they had lost their son…

He had wanted to propose to Hermione. At the end of the year when they finished school. To get down on one knee in front of their family and friends.

Draco had had a vision of their lives so clear in his head. They'd be planning a wedding while he trained as a paediatric healer and Hermione worked hard at the Ministry. They'd come home tired at the end of the day, but spend their evenings playing with Shiloh, bathing her, feeding her, and putting her to bed. And then he'd hold Hermione close at night, kissing her, feeling all of her pressed against him...

That would be their life, and it would be beautiful.

The very idea seemed ridiculous now.

That vision was gone, carried away like the spring blossoms on the wind. Ephemeral. Here one minute, gone the next.

And Draco was left alone with his regret and his grief.

Another week passed, and Draco had yet to work up the courage to speak to Hermione. He had hardly seen Shiloh. The only time he caught glimpses of his daughter was at meals, where the little girl was surrounded by those who remained steadfast at Hermione's side.

Draco chose to sit at a far corner of the Slytherin table with his old friends, who seemed content to let him stew over his untouched food. She needed space, that much was obvious, and his fear seemed to dictate his own freewill now. His friends carried on with their lives, talking about Pureblood familial gossip or some socialite gathering happening this summer. It was in these moments, when he needed support over apathy, that the realisation hit him. These friends were good for many things, but offering comfort for not one of them.

As he wandered about the castle, his feet carried him around without much direction. Eyes followed him everywhere these days. It seemed that the only thing worth staring at more than a redeemed Death Eater turned teenage father was a redeemed Death Eater turned teenage father who was now estranged from his girlfriend.

Draco was tired of those eyes.

The only eyes he wanted to see were Hermione's, and right now, even those terrified him.

With every step he took—every spell he cast—every night he spent alone, the weight of it all piled on until he felt like he might explode.

On Saturday afternoon, he sat on the bed he was supposed to share with Hermione, the window open and carrying in an April breeze. The feel of the warm air on his cheeks might have cheered him at some point, but now, its caress left him feeling empty as he always seemed to feel these days.

All around him were the reminders of the life he'd had. Could have kept having if he hadn't opened his mouth and spat out the worst kind of words.

This flat was now filled with ghosts.

He needed to get out of there. To go somewhere—_anywhere_ else. Wasting away in this eerie silence was slowly driving him mad.

Grabbing his wand, he strode out of the flat, down the staircase, and right to the fireplace. As before, only a smattering of eighth years remained inside on a beautiful day. Finnegan and Thomas. Bones. MacMillan. Goldstein.

Draco paid them no heed as he grabbed a handful of Floo powder and cast it into the flames, turning them the same sickening green as the Dark Mark when it floated high in the sky.

He stepped through as he choked out his destination.

Draco could have chosen a number of places to go. Shell Cottage, for one. The Burrow. There would always be arms to welcome him there.

But it wasn't Mrs. Weasley's arms he wanted, or the soft roll of the shore at Bill and Fleur's.

For some reason, at this moment, he wanted his own mother.

Draco landed with a soft _thud_ in the parlour of Malfoy Manor.

From the moment he landed, Draco felt that something was… _off_. He stood and dusted his knees before making his way past the familiar dark draperies and austere portraits into the main corridor of the house in search of his mother.

He didn't have to search long. Only twenty steps into his journey, a head poked out from the library at the end of the hall.

Draco felt his whole body relax at the sight of his mother. A comforting warmth filled his chest to see her light-coloured head and familiar smile.

"Draco!" she cried, her voice higher than normal. "What in Merlin's name are you doing here?"

"I wanted to come for a visit. Is that all right, Mother?"

He felt the words fall off his tongue, though he hardly believed them himself. He supposed it was better to break the news about Scorpius to his mother gently, gradually.

"Of course it's all right, darling." Narcissa ushered him closer, and Draco walked the rest of the distance down the corridor. As he approached, he noticed a distinctly manic look in his mother's wide eyes. "You've come at an interesting time."

Yes, there was definitely something odd going on.

When Mother wrapped her arms around him, it was not the tighter hugs he had come to expect during the past few visits, but rather, a barely-there embrace. Narcissa's grip on him was weak and uncertain. Yet, as they hugged, her spine straightened and she felt rigid in his arms.

Draco narrowed his eyes as he laid his chin on Narcissa's shoulder. _This_ was not like his mother. He couldn't help the nerves building inside of him as his mother pulled back, holding him at arm's length.

"Look at you, my dragon. You're looking peaky. It must be stressful, having Shiloh and another on the way. And N.E.W.T.s! Why don't you—" She paused, looking over her shoulder. "Why don't you come to the kitchens and Moppy can fetch you some—"

"Is that Draco?" A voice carried from inside the library.

Draco's stomach dropped to his feet.

It was a voice he hadn't heard in nearly a year.

A voice he wasn't prepared to hear—didn't think he'd hear for years, if ever again.

Draco side-stepped past his mother and into the library. There, sitting in a dark, velvet, wingback chair was none other than his own father.

Azkaban had not done Lucius Malfoy any favours. His hair, once shining and thick, had thinned considerably. It now hung limply from his scalp. The proud face that had delivered glares and haughty looks throughout Draco's whole childhood was now gaunt, his cheekbones sunken in and his eyes bloodshot.

This was not the Lucius Malfoy he knew.

Draco approached with caution. He wondered if, like a wounded dragon, his father would lash out.

"Father." He made sure to draw himself up to his full height—made sure to keep his voice steady. "I wasn't expecting to see you."

"He has been released early." Narcissa patted Draco on the shoulder as she made her way across the library and settled into the armchair beside Lucius. "Isn't that lovely?"

Draco nodded stiffly. "What a surprise. Were you released for good behavior?"

Lucius grunted, tipping a tumbler of firewhisky past his lips. "Something like that." He reached to the cart beside him, gripping the rim of another tumbler in his fingers and holding it out to Draco, who accepted it with reluctance. Lucius tipped a finger of amber liquid inside.

"Well surely it must feel good to be out." Draco swirled the firewhisky around before taking a sip.

Lucius snorted. When he spoke in a drawl, it was more to himself than to the rest of the room. "Those bastards at the Wizengamot don't know what's coming to them. Send me to Azkaban? The fools. They'll never see a penny from the Malfoy vaults again."

He was muttering now, his lip curled in a petulant sneer.

Draco held the tumbler to his lips in an attempt to hide his discomfort.

"And you, my son?" Lucius looked at him, his gaze seeming to penetrate his very soul. "You're back at Hogwarts, are you not?"

"Yes, Father."

"And after?"

"Yes, Father?"

"What do you intend to do, exactly?"

Draco licked his lips. He had come clean to his mother about this and received surprising support. But to his father… that was a different story. As he opened his mouth, his throat nearly constricted with nerves, but he pushed through them.

"I'm hoping to train at St. Mungo's. Become a Healer—a paediatric Healer."

Draco never broke Lucius's gaze as he spoke, his chest puffed with pride and what he hoped was confidence. From just behind his father's back, Narcissa's lips tugged into a tight-lipped smile, and she looked at him with adoration shining in her eyes.

Draco couldn't help the tug of his own lips, knowing his mother was proud of him.

At least _someone_ was.

"A paediatric Healer?" Lucius scoffed, pouring himself another glass with a dismissive shake of his head. "Where did you get a ridiculous notion like that in your head? Malfoys make charitable donations to hospitals. They don't dirty their hands by working in them."

Indignation tightened Draco's jaw. He blinked. "I got the idea from my daughter, actually."

Father's brow furrowed. "That's right. That child of yours. What's her name?"

"Shiloh." He pressed on before his father could interrupt. "When I helped with her delivery and helped take care of her, I realised how much of a calling I have. How much good I can do and how good I am at it."

"Funny name, Shiloh. Why didn't you choose a celestial name, Draco?"

"We—Hermione and I—we decided a celestial name wasn't right for her."

"And rightfully so!" Lucius set his tumbler down on the cart with a loud clack. "This child isn't _really _a Malfoy, after all."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Isn't a—?"

"Honestly, I'm surprised you're even involved with this child, Draco." Lucius leaned back in his chair, gazing upon him with… was that boredom? Disgust? Draco just couldn't tell. "Childrearing is usually reserved for house-elves, and besides, I assumed you would limit your contact to nothing more than… financial support."

Father's eyes landed directly on his, and Draco anger bubble up in his stomach, as it had so often in recent days.

"And why would that be?" He could feel anger begin to bubble, like a cauldron over high heat, years of his father's dismissive attitude resurfaced but Draco wasn't going to take the same verbal abuse. No. Not now. Not this time. Not after losing his son, and potentially the little family he cared so much about.

"Because of who the child's mother is, of course." He shook his head. "A public embarrassment, having a child with a _Mudblood._ A shame, really."

Draco was about to open his mouth, but he was cut short when he saw the look on Mother's face. Wide-eyed, her lips were nothing more than a tight line. He watched as Mother came to a clear realisation.

The last time Draco stood in this house, she had insinuated something similar. The only difference was that his mother had a conscience. As Father spoke, her face turned a delicate shade of green.

Draco pushed down the vitriol sitting on the tip of his tongue. He clenched his fists instead.

After a minute of silence, during which the only noise was the steady ticking of the tall clock in the corner, Mother spoke up. Her voice was tentative.

"How _is_ Hermione doing? And the baby? She must be getting bigger."

It was like being cut open with _Sectumsempra_ all over again. Draco steeled himself, but his father beat him to the punch.

"Baby?" Father shook his head, his sneer returning. "Don't tell me you got her pregnant _again_?"

"Well—"

"It's a boy this time," Mother piped up. Perhaps she hoped this news would appease his father. She turned to face him, eyebrows raised in apparent anticipation.

Father only shook his head again. "What an utter fool my son has turned out to be. What a _disappointment."_

He was no longer looking at Draco, but instead, up at an old family portrait hanging on the wall above the mantle. It had been painted when Draco was very young—four or five, perhaps. He stood stiffly in his dark robes, his little face serious. His parents sat behind him in the portrait, their own faces just as severe.

It all left Draco feeling rather cold.

He turned to Mother, decidedly ignoring Father. Somehow, it seemed easier just to tell her. Draco braced himself as he spoke, each word more difficult to say than the last. "About the baby—we… lost him a couple weeks ago. We found out at an appointment with a Healer from St. Mungo's."

"So—" Narcissa began, her eyes wide. "No baby?"

Draco shook his head. He could feel the familiar burn of tears welling just behind his eyes.

"No baby."

He had a feeling that if this had been a conversation between just him and his mother, they would both be crying now. He would have laid his head on his mother's shoulder and allowed himself to express the grief that had been growing like a tumour inside his body. She would have comforted him, stroked his head softly and said something to make him feel better.

But this wasn't that kind of conversation.

Father acted as a sort of barrier between mother and son, preventing any real emotion from reaching the surface. His sadness laid dormant instead. He pushed it down into the pit of his stomach. He didn't want his father to see him cry.

Draco looked at his toes, willing the tears to stay away.

Unfortunately, it was his father who broke the silence that followed.

"You should be grateful, Draco. A halfblood for the Malfoy heir? What a pity that would have been."

Draco's blood ran cold.

"And it's already bad enough that you have one halfblood spawn, but at least that one's a girl."

Draco had experienced many forms of anger in the last few years of his life. Some kinds of anger were explosive; they were the kinds that made you yell at your friends and destroy precious objects. Other kinds of anger bubbled inside, stewing for long periods of time until they either dissipated or evolved into the explosive type.

This kind of anger—this one was different.

Draco felt a rage that was white hot beneath every inch of his skin. It radiated into his fingernails and the tips of his ears. Yet when he went to open his mouth, he found himself frozen. Unable to speak. Instead, his whole body quivered as he stared at his father. They stared at each other for an unprecedented amount of time, and Draco hoped to Salazar that his eyes were giving off as much vitriol as possible. He hoped his gaze burned a hole in his father's soul.

Father, perhaps noticing Draco's anger or perhaps not, stood from his wingback chair and crossed the library to the door with such nonchalance that it lifted the lock on Draco's tongue.

"She's your granddaughter!" he managed to blurt as Lucius reached for the brass handle.

Father turned, his eyes more gaunt than ever, his sallow skin hanging off him in a near-ghostlike manner.

"_She's your granddaughter."_ Draco heard the pleading tone in his voice, and hated himself for it.

His father paused, and for one brief, shining moment, something flashed in Father's eyes. Draco wasn't sure what it was, but he thought for that one small moment that there might still be some humanity left in him.

And then it vanished. Like it had never even existed in the first place.

Stone-faced and callous, his father turned away from him and pulled the door. As it swung open, he spoke into the hallway. "She is no granddaughter of mine."

Lucius was gone. Draco heard his footsteps echo through the corridor and up the steps to the first floor of their home.

He shouldn't have felt as empty as he did. His father had, after all, been relatively absent in his life for nearly a year. Before then, he'd been cold and distant, with unreasonable expectations.

Still… watching his father walk away like that did nothing for the growing pit in his stomach. All the anger that had burned his skin was suddenly extinguished. Draco was beginning to feel whiplash from the whirlwind of emotions that he had experienced in only the last few days.

He was tired. Tired of feeling angry. Tired of feeling regret. Just… _tired_.

In his father's absence, Mother moved from her spot to his side. She placed an arm around his shoulders.

"Oh, Draco. I'm so sorry." His mother embraced him fully this time. Not like the weak, awkward hug she had given him upon his arrival, but a real, true hug. Her fingers clutched his shirt, her ear pressing to his heartbeat. "If I had known you were coming, I would have warned you. I was planning on owling you this evening—"

"It's all right, Mother." He patted his mother on the back, forcing the calm tone in his voice. "It's not like the outcome would have been any different."

Narcissa sighed, pulling back. "No, I suppose not." His mother fidgeted with one of the heavy rings on her fingers. "And Draco, I am _so_ sorry that you and Hermione lost the baby. For what it's worth, I've had some time to think since we had tea, and I realise—" She took a deep breath here, as if steeling herself. "—I realise that I was wrong to push the two of you to marry. I see the way you look at each other. She loves you, Draco. And it'll come with time."

Draco felt the pit in his stomach stretch wider. He looked down at his shoes.

"I don't know, Mother. I-I said some pretty cruel things to her after we lost him."

Narcissa's lip wobbled a bit when she took his face in her hands, but her eyes remained steadfast, with a look she had only seen in them a handful of times. It was a look he recognised more from Mrs. Weasley than from anyone else.

Love. _Unconditional_ love_._

For some reason, seeing that look in his mother's eyes made Draco want to cry even more.

"She does love you, Draco. But you're going to have to set things right. _She_ is your family now. I don't want you to lose your family."

As Narcissa pulled her palms away from his face, Draco caught sight of the Malfoy family portrait hanging on the wall once more. Though Draco couldn't remember that portrait being painted, he remembered other parts of his childhood vividly.

Like the portrait, much of his childhood had been austere and formal. He had been largely raised by house-elves, only spending time with his parents when they wanted to introduce him to one important person or another.

His childhood hadn't contained much joy. Sure, he had racing brooms and all the latest toys, but that hadn't equated anything close to happiness.

Draco re-focused on the portrait. No one was smiling. No one was touching. He, Mother, and Father hardly looked like a family at all. Not the kind of family he had come to know more recently, anyway. At Hermione's childhood home, the walls and shelves had been covered in Muggle photographs. Candid and posed moments alike, they all had one thing in common: happiness.

Hermione had grown up with love as the central tenet of her life. She was her parents' world, and they had smothered her with affection. Draco had seen some of that familial affection, and it had shaken him out of a stupor.

He continued to stare at that cold, rigid family portrait for several minutes. With each tick of the clock, his heart began to beat faster, his mind settling on what he had to do.

Love hadn't been the priority in his home. But it was in Hermione's.

Then it clicked.

He didn't want Shiloh to grow up in a home like his.

He didn't want austere family photographs to hang on the wall of his home, glaring down at him.

He didn't want Shiloh to be afraid to hug him or Hermione to feel she had to hold her tongue around him.

Draco wanted them to be a proper, loving family—wanted to be there for Hermione and Shiloh and any other children that he hoped they would have one day. And more than anything, he didn't want to hurt them. Not anymore.

And that was going to start with him apologising to Hermione. It didn't matter if he had to get down on his knees and beg.

He had to fight for the family he wanted.

Chest heaving, Draco ripped his gaze away from the portrait. His mouth had gone dry and adrenaline began to pump through his veins. He knew what he had to do. He had to get out of here—had to get back to Hogwarts. Had to find Hermione. Had to make it better some way, somehow.

"I have to go, Mother."

He kissed Narcissa's cheek and tore through the door before she could respond.

Draco's shoes pounded on the marble floors as he made his way to the parlour.

She was bound to be in the library. He just had to get back to school and make it to her. He'd run if he had to. Yell that he loved her at the top of his lungs. Draco didn't care if Madam Pince had him thrown out of the library for the rest of the year. He didn't care who heard or what they thought. This was his family, and it was time he stepped the fuck up.

Taking a handful of powder, he barely got the words "Hogwarts eighth year common room" out before he was twisting, spinning in a swirl of green flames and smoke.

Draco's heart was still hammering when he landed in the familiar space.

This time, it was empty.

He stood, his breath coming in pants. Why did his stomach feel like it was full of pixies?

Because he loved her. He needed to tell her. Needed her to know.

Draco took his first step toward the library.

"Erm... Malfoy?" A figure stepped out from the corner of the common room, interrupting his one-track mind.

He swiveled to see MacMillan standing in front of a study table. He seemed diminutive, his hands fiddling in front of him.

Draco did not have time for him.

"Later, MacMillan. I'm busy."

"Listen, I need to talk to you."

"I said _later_."

"It's important—"

"_Later."_

"I sent those notes!"

Draco froze. The pixies in his stomach fell away as his heart stuttered to a halt. It was like someone had doused him in a bucket of ice water. He swallowed. "You—_what?"_

MacMillan was wringing his hands. His eyes shifted back and forth. "I sent the notes. The… um.. The threatening ones."

Draco looked from the portrait hole to MacMillan, his body torn in two. Half of him wanted to ream out MacMillan and other half of him just wanted to say 'fuck it' and find Hermione as soon as he could.

So he remained stock still. A compromise of sorts. When he didn't say anything, MacMillan kept speaking.

"I was just so mad. I didn't know what else to do. After—at the end of the battle, my friend Wayne—you knew Hopkins, right?"

The name vaguely rang a bell, but Draco didn't say anything. MacMillian didn't give him a chance anyway.

"Wayne was in a bad way. Got hit by some curse and then near trampled. I managed to drag him to the Great Hall where everyone else was. And I went to go get Madam Pomfrey, but you got to her first. I saw you and Hermione leaving with her." MacMillan wiped away a stray tear from his flushed face, his eyes trained on the floor. He swallowed. "Wayne died while she was off delivering your sprog."

Draco felt his stomach drop. But only just.

"I was just so mad at you. I felt like you took him away from me. When I saw you back on the train in September, I dunno—something just snapped."

It was only then that MacMillan looked up, his eyes filled with tears. "It wasn't until I heard you yelling at Zabini the other day that I stopped and really realised what I'd done. I had no idea how much they'd really affect you." He wrung his hands more, eyes shifting nervously between the toes of his shoes and Draco. "...or how they'd… how they'd m-make Hermione lose the baby."

Draco was fully invested in this now. He turned away from the portrait hole, heart pounding, teeth clenched, fists balled tightly.

"Why are you telling me this now, MacMillan?" Draco grit out.

"Because I want to apologise. I… I should turn myself into McGonagall."

"The hell you should."

"And I should apologise to Herm—"

"Don't you _dare_ go near her."

MacMillan's mouth snapped shut, his stupid, hippogriff shite-coloured eyes wide and clouded with fear.

"Go to McGonagall. Or don't. I don't really give a bloody fuck what you do. Just stay away from my family."

Draco turned on his heel and began to march toward the portrait hole.

Fucking MacMillan.

Draco clenched his fists tighter with each step he took.

_Fucking MacMillan,_ standing there frozen with that stupid, shocked expression on his face.

He had promised himself that he'd control his anger. That'd he'd rein it in for the sake of his family.

He could just walk away with dignity. Take the high road.

Or.

Yes, or sounded good. Just one more time.

Twisting on the spot, Draco strode back to the spot where MacMillan stood, body rigid and frozen to the spot he'd left him in.

A tiny hope flickered in MacMillan's eyes at Draco's return, like perhaps the boy assumed he'd be willing to discuss his transgression, but before the arsehole could get in a single word, Draco drew back his arm and punched him square in the jaw.

This time, it felt good.

* * *

**Okay, who saw that coming? My Beta did. Did you? Only one person as far as I remember predicted in the comments. **

**Lucius is almost always an ass in all my stories. Narcissa, far less so. **

**Take care everyone! Be well. **


	20. Chapter 20

**To those of you who have been hanging on through all the pain, thank you. I know this fic took a very difficult turn that I'm sure you might not have expected when you hopped over to this fic from its predecessor. I've promised you fluff. And this time, I swear we're almost there. **

**I hope this chapter is satisfying. I kind of hope it makes you cry. I cried while writing it. **

**Many thanks to MsMerlin and Graceful Lioness. **

* * *

Hermione was not at the library. A very annoyed Madam Pince kicked Draco out after he spent nearly twenty minutes searching every aisle, alcove, and study nook in the place. She wasn't out by the lake with most other students either. Now slightly sweaty, Draco marched up the steps to the seventh floor toward the _only_ other place that came to mind.

When he reached the portrait of the Fat Lady outside of the Gryffindor Common Room, the woman turned her nose up at him.

"Please, if you just let me in—"

"I will not."

"What if I knew the password?"

The Fat Lady raised an eyebrow. "Do you?"

Draco's shoulders slumped. "Well, no, but—"

"No password, no entry," she sniffed. "And besides, it's _you_ that they've been muttering about, so I wouldn't want to let you in anyway."

Draco didn't have to guess who 'they' were. Figuring he was out of luck, he slumped to the floor and leaned against the wall across from the portrait.

Thankfully, it didn't take long for someone to come along. It was a second or third year girl—he couldn't really tell which. He practically begged her to find Hermione for him if she was inside the tower. The girl reluctantly agreed before slinking past the portrait, her eyes still trained on him.

Four minutes later, Ginny stepped through the portrait hole.

She looked livid.

Face nearly as red as her hair, arms crossed, she walked right up to Draco and poked him in the chest.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing, Malfoy?"

Draco lifted his hands up. "I'm looking for Hermione. I just want to talk."

"Well she doesn't want to see you."

"I need to see her."

"Why?" Ginny put her hands on her hips, her frown deepening.

"To apologise."

"Apologise for _what_, exactly?"

Draco ran his fingers over his bruised knuckles, the subtle pain a reminder of the well deserved right hook he gave Ernie. He cleared his throat, the pixies returning to his stomach. He wanted to look down, but forced himself to keep eye contact with Ginny. To get to Hermione, he had to get through her first. "I want to apologise for being an arse—saying things I don't mean. Apologise for blaming her for something that wasn't her fault."

Ginny's expression softed, but only for a moment.

"Why did you say those things in the first place?" she pressed. "Do you know how much Hermione's hurting right now? She's cried herself to sleep every night for the last week. Hasn't been eating. Has barely been able to look at Shiloh."

The butterflies in his stomach turned to knots before they soured. Hermione had been crying herself to sleep? She hadn't been eating. A surge of protectiveness filled him. He had to get to her—had to get her to eat again somehow.

"I-I didn't know." His shoulders slumped, shame filling in the cracks between his organs.

"Of course you didn't know. You haven't been around. You've been off moping in some other corner of the castle."

Draco's brow furrowed. "Wait—Did you _want_ me to come talk to Hermione?"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "You're such an insensitive wart. _Yes_, Hermione needs you. Even if you're the world's biggest arsehole."

The insult felt a little bruising, but he'd take it. It's not like Ginny's words weren't untrue.

"But what about all the horrible things I said? I called her a-a—"

"I know what you called her. But that wasn't the stupidest thing you did, Malfoy."

Draco cocked his head. "It wasn't?"

Ginny sighed, folding her arms again. "You basically told her that losing Scorpius was her fault. She was already beating herself up and completely miserable. Did you know that? Or were you so consumed with your own grief that you forgot about the fact that Hermione was the one carrying him inside her body?"

Draco could only stand stock still as Ginny's words hit him like a verbal Crucio.

"Did you know that she wakes up at night thinking about giving birth to him? She's always in hysterics, touching her stomach and practically inconsolable. There's only so much I can say to help her. It's you who's supposed to be the one comforting her. Not me. _You_."

"She's—_dreaming about it?_" Draco felt his stomach roil, felt his eyes burn in horror. Had he really been so selfish in his grief that he hadn't stopped to consider how much losing Scorpius was affecting her? Gods, he was such an arse. Worse than an arse. Worse than the lowliest flobberworm.

"Yeah. And you should have been there for her. But you know what? She hasn't asked for you. Not once."

This, more than anything pushed him over the edge. He wanted to make things right with Hermione, but if she didn't want him—if he had pushed her so far that she didn't want to see him or speak to him—what hope was there?

Draco dropped to his knees and sobbed as the weight of his heinous words truly fell upon his shoulders for the first time. Big, fat, ugly tears fell down his cheeks. He knew how he must look to Ginny. Like a fool. But he was beyond caring. That's not what mattered now.

All that mattered was that he had messed up.

He had one good thing going for him.

Just one.

And now? Now it was gone.

His wonderful, brilliant, patient, lovely Hermione was miserable and it was all his fault.

Draco sobbed harder, his body wracking as he tried to breathe, he was only able to shudder. Everything hurt. Sounds were suddenly far too loud. His own breathing echoed in his ears, rasping and desperate.

What had he done?

It wasn't until the lightest touch brushed his shoulder that Draco broke free from his own spiraling. His head snapped up to see what had touched his shoulder and gasped.

_Hermione. _

Ginny had stepped aside. In her place was Hermione, tear stains streaking down her face. There were bags under eyes the likes of which he hadn't seen since the weeks after Shiloh was born. But at least then, her eyes had been filled with joy and love. These eyes… he didn't recognise them. They were still the colour of chocolate, but they looked dulled, somehow.

Her robes were stained and rumpled. They hung off her body like they had last year, when she was on the run. How much weight had she lost since Scorpius? A stone, at least. Maybe two. Ginny had said she wasn't eating, but this… Worry poured freely into Draco. Before, that worry had been laced with anger and regret, bitterness and loathing. Now, the only thing driving the pit in his stomach was the love he felt for the woman in front of him.

In another time, Draco might have stalled. He might have mumbled or stuttered, overcome by emotion at the sight of his lovely girlfriend in such a state—so broken and battered by not just his words, but his actions.

But he didn't have the luxury of chances or extra time. This was not a moment to trip over his tongue or hem and haw about the minutiae of words.

This was the time to take action—the time to put himself out in the world before Hermione, to make himself vulnerable and bare his heart before her. Because if he didn't do it now, there might not be another chance.

So when Hermione's face crinkled with confusion, the lump in her throat bobbing as she asked him, "Draco, what are you doing here?" there were only two words that he could have possibly said.

His eyes never leaving hers, Draco spoke in as clear of a voice as he could manage.

"I'm sorry."

When her expression didn't shift, he tried again.

"I'm _so_ sorry, Hermione."

She swallowed.

A dam inside of him broke.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. _I'm so fucking sorry_." Tears streamed down his face as apologies poured from him. "I'm sorry I blamed you for Scorpius and I'm sorry I kept those bloody letters from you and I'm so, so _fucking_ sorry I called you a-a—."

His voice wavered as he saw tears fall down Hermione's cheeks as well.

Squeezing his eyes shut so he didn't have to see the expression on her face, he forced himself to continue talking. "If you want to hate me, I won't stop you. I hate myself. Because it wasn't the fucking Dark Lord that made me say that to you. No one was holding a wand to my throat. I _wanted_ to hurt you. Wanted to make you cry. And for that, I don't know if I can ever forgive myself."

Draco was sure he hadn't ever looked so pathetic in his life, but he didn't give a damn.

Let Hermione see him flushed and covered in tears and snot. Let her see the mess he'd become.

He braced himself to open his eyes—to look up at Hermione once more.

She was bound to react with disgust, recoiling from his hideousness. Or perhaps she'd react with pity. He'd take it. He'd get down on his knees and beg if he had to.

Peeling his still-wet eyes open, he looked into her chocolate ones. And what he saw took his breath away.

Her eyes weren't narrowed in disgust or wide with pity. She was still crying, yes, but there was something more to the shape of her lips and the angle of her brows that told him she was feeling something else entirely.

"Hermione?" The word came out as a whisper, desperate and searching.

Her face contorted for a moment, but she composed herself.

And then she said something miraculous.

"I don't hate you, Draco. I couldn't… not ever. I… I—I _love_ you."

As the last three words caressed his ears, Draco felt himself break. He flung himself forward on his knees, wrapping his arms tightly around Hermione's legs, burying his head in her knees. A soft touch on his head and fingers gently combing his hair told him that maybe, just maybe, there might be a path forward.

"I love you," he murmured into the leg of her trousers. "I love you so much. I'm so sorry."

They stayed like that for a while, unmoving, his head leaning against her, and her fingers stroking his hair.

Silence rang in the corridors. Draco briefly wondered if Ginny had gone—if they were alone.

"I should have given us more time." Hermione's voice was raspy and heartbroken. "At the Hospital Wing. I should have given us time to think—to mourn. Instead I pushed forward without talking to you." She paused, though her fingers continued carding through his hair. "It's not all on you, Draco."

"Losing Scorpius wasn't your fault." Draco shook his head as he took a great breath. "It was wrong of me to say those things to you. I don't really think that, you know? At the time, I was so angry—so sad—I wasn't thinking straight."

Hermione's hand paused. "I know."

Draco sighed, his bones suddenly feeling like butter.

"But you did still say them."

Draco's heart stuttered. His mouth went dry.

He nodded. "Yeah."

Fingers touched his chin, tilting his face up. Grey found brown.

"I don't want to fight. I'm not ready to forgive you for everything yet, but I want to move forward. I want to move forward with you. I'm tired of crying by myself."

Her words collided with his empty chest, and as Hermione sank to the ground and into his arms, his heart began to thump a healthy rhythm for the first time in two weeks. Holding her, feeling her curls against his cheek—this was how they were meant to be.

It wasn't perfect. It might never be perfect again. But they had each other now, and that had to count for something.

Having Hermione and Shiloh back with him brought life back into their little flat. Draco no longer woke alone, or sat for hours in silence. His days were filled with the babbling of his daughter and the feeling of Hermione's fingers laced through his, and honestly, he couldn't have been more filled with gratitude if he tried.

She'd made it very clear that they had a lot they needed to talk about.

"I'm not going to lie to you," she said as they laid in the dark of their bedroom for their first night back together. "I haven't forgotten how cruel you were. It… reminded me of when we were younger."

"I'm—"

"Don't say you're sorry again. _Show_ me that you've changed."

They agreed to be careful with their relationship. Slow. They held hands. They hugged. Mostly, they talked.

It felt a lot like that summer—that summer that felt like it was so long ago.

They had spent a lot of time talking then. Riding bicycles. Eating ice cream. Their relationship hadn't been simpler—it had never been simple, really. But it was a far cry from the complex web their lives had become since then.

Returning to that felt nice.

Draco told Hermione about books on Healing he had checked out from the library—after swearing that he wouldn't "rampage through the shelves like an erumpant" to Madam Pince, of course.

Hermione told him about the jobs she had been applying to at the MInistry. She admitted that though she hated the idea of working for that vile man Carlisle Bluster, her heart was still set on the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.

They talked about Shiloh, repeating on a seemingly endless cycle how amazed they were at her size, at her abilities…

They didn't talk about Scoripus. Not yet. Draco wasn't sure either of them would be able to even broach the subject without breaking down. The two of them had finally reached some sort of equilibrium from which they could forge a path forward, and it was just precarious enough that it wasn't worth the risk.

By the time April reached its final days, Draco was feeling more at ease than he had in a long while. He told Hermione about MacMillan's confession during one of their late-night talks. Her response had been quiet at first. She'd laid completely still as he spoke, and when he was done, she rolled on her side, facing away from him.

Draco had to admit that he was a bit disappointed with her reaction. _He'd_ been furious to the point of punching MacMillan. Surely, she felt at least some of that anger.

For a while, it appeared as though she didn't harbour negative feelings. She appeared to be taking the high road; that she had somehow moved past this horrible information. Days passed without a word from her about MacMillan. She even walked right by him in Transfiguration and seemed to deliberately stare straight ahead instead of meeting his eye. After a week, Draco was convinced that she truly wasn't going to react at all.

And then, on the last day of April just as Draco stopped wondering when she would react, she snapped.

Owls swooped overhead to deliver letters during breakfast, and Hermione marched up to MacMillan in the middle of the Great Hall, seemingly without provocation, and slapped him across the face. The whole hall had gone silent as the sound of palm on cheek reverberated across the enchanting ceiling. Heads turned. Eyes grew wide.

McGonagall had merely glanced up from her copy of The Daily Prophet.

Draco figured that McGonagall trusted Hermione enough that if she slapped someone, they likely deserved it. He doubted if anyone else in the castle would get that same trust.

Looking at Hermione's determinedly calm features and MacMillan's beet red face, he was grateful for the Headmistress's oversight.

The sight was truly satisfying. He always knew she had a vindictive streak, having experienced it himself during their third year, and there was definitely a part of him that was incredibly attracted to her in that moment.

Breakfast returned to normal within a couple minutes, murmurings returning to the usual volume. Hermione said nothing as she slid back into her spot at the Gryffindor table. She didn't need to.

No one else knew the true reason behind the slap, but it seemed like everyone was too intimidated to ask. Even Ginny held back, greeting Hermione with a mere raise of her eyebrows as breakfast began.

That very same morning, a handsome owl landed beside their plates, narrowly avoiding a platter of sausages. A letter addressed to him and to Hermione was tied to its leg. He quickly removed it, recognising the Weasley family owl that had replaced Errol.

"It's from Mrs. Weasley," he informed Hermione after glancing through the opening lines. "She-she wants to know if we've made arrangements for Shiloh's birthday party."

The familiar lurch in his stomach made an appearance—the same lurch he always felt when he thought about the impending anniversary. Hermione shifted beside him, and he wondered if she also felt the same lurch. They both looked up at Shiloh, who was currently fisting a piece of scrambled egg from Longbottom's lap.

"She'll never forgive us if we don't throw her a proper party." Hermione sighed into her bowl of porridge. "You do know that, don't you?"

Draco grimaced. "Even on _that day?"_ He glanced back down at the letter, his eyes darting back and forth as he read the rest of it.

_I do hope you choose to have a party. If it's too much of a hassle to have at Hogwarts—_

"Ah. I suppose you're right." Draco brandished the parchment in his hand. "She's offered to host the party. She says she'll—" He checked the letter again. "—take care of everything and all we'll need to do is show up. And she wants to have it this Saturday on the first of May. What do you think?"

Hermione's eyes traveled to the letter and then over to Shiloh, who had smashed a bit of egg onto Longbottom's cheek. "Well we can bring the cake we ordered at the very least."

"So… is that—are we sure this is a good idea?"

Hermione pushed her porridge around the bowl with a spoon. "Honestly, I'm tired of feeling sad all the time. I think a proper birthday party would be… _nice_. Besides, I really want to see her try cake for the first time."

They both turned to Shiloh, who had somehow managed to smear maple syrup from Longbottom's pancakes all over her face and torso.

Draco chuckled. "I'll admit, that's something I wouldn't mind seeing."

He sent their reply to Mrs. Weasley immediately, accepting her offer.

The Burrow was full of life the following Saturday afternoon. A handful of friends from Hogwarts—Ginny, Longbottom, Luna, and even Theo—had all promised to be there. Ron and Harry along with little Teddy, and the other Weasleys milled about as well, each arriving with a present in hand and grateful smiles on their faces.

Draco was grateful that no one was giving him dirty looks. After the way he stormed out of Teddy's birthday, he figured that Harry or Ron might want to give him a thorough dressing down. But he guessed that Hermione had told them not to say anything, because while they greeted him a little more warily than usual, neither of them broached Teddy's party.

Shiloh was relishing in the attention, hamming it up for the guests with her big cheesy grins and belly laughs. Ron took it upon himself to tickle his goddaughter until her laughter rang in every inch of the Burrow. Eventually, everyone settled in the sitting room. Hermione plucked Shiloh from Ron's arms and carried her into the center. Draco followed, and the three of them sat on the floor surrounded by a small mountain of brightly wrapped parcels.

Shiloh, of course, had no idea what was going on, and squirmed as Draco began to unbox the first present: a small stack of books. He smiled at the titles.

_Dragon's Alphabet_

_Pepper the Persnickety Pixie_

_What's In The Cauldron?_

Hermione seemed delighted. Shiloh was far more interested in shoving _What's In The Cauldron?_ in her mouth.

Just as Draco reached for another gift, the Floo briefly roared to life again behind Luna and Neville. Everyone turned, and Draco had time to see a few eyes grow wide before a tall, pale figure came into view.

His mother.

She was dressed in pale pink robes, and while there were clear worry lines dotted across her forehead, the smile that spread across her face when she stepped into the room was genuine.

Before he had a chance to say anything, Mrs. Weasley stepped forward. "Oh, Narcissa. I'm so glad you could make it!"

Mother dusted her robes off, beaming down at Shiloh and him. "Yes, well what kind of grandmother would I be if I missed my granddaughter's first birthday party?"

One side of Draco's lips twisted upward. He didn't quite know why, but knowing that his mother was there filled him with a rare kind of warmth that he hadn't felt in quite a number of years. He made a mental note to thank Mrs. Weasley for inviting her later.

In the end, Draco opened up several more gifts, including plush creatures, clothing in various sizes, a toy broomstick (courtesy of Ron), more books, a set of blocks, and an enchanted toy tea set made of china that would sing silly songs when in use—evidently the very same one his mother had as a young girl. When all the presents had been opened, paper strewn all about the room, everyone shuffled from the sitting room to the dining area, where the cake now became the center of attention.

The dragon-themed confection they'd ordered weeks ago was a smash hit to all the party-goers, but more importantly, Shiloh loved it. She shrieked with joy when she caught sight of the cake, flapping her arms and pointing to it. That was one thing Draco especially loved about his daughter. There was nothing ambiguous about her. He always knew how she was feeling. She wasn't self-conscious about showing sadness or joy or anger. Life hadn't taught her to be that way yet.

Life had also definitely not given her the opportunity to learn table manners yet either. Within seconds of placing a slice of the beautifully baked confection in front of her, she had covered herself in green frosting, her mouth fully smeared with chocolate.

When Draco crouched beside Shiloh, where she sat strapped into a high chair, he opened his mouth.

"Can Daddy have some?" he asked, pointing to his mouth.

With an uproarious giggle, Shiloh grabbed a handful of cake and smashed it adjacent to his mouth. Draco was vaguely aware that someone was taking photographs, and that everyone had their eyes on him, but he didn't care. These kinds of looks, he could take them.

Let them see him being silly, being kind.

Let them see him be the kind of man he wanted to be. The kind of father he wanted to be.

"So delicious. Thank you, pixie." He grinned and ruffled a spot on Shiloh's hair that hadn't been covered in cake yet.

As he stood and swiped the cake off his face with his thumb, his eyes landed on Mother. She was staring at him, painted lips slightly agape.

Tears in her eyes.

Later, after the remainder of the cake had been distributed and everyone was mingling, his mother approached him, eyes slightly red, mouth stretching tentatively into a smile. She mentioned that she had to head back to the Manor, as she only had an hour's reprieve from her house arrest. Before she turned back toward the Floo, she pulled him close and whispered five small words in his ear.

"I'm so proud of you." In the few seconds after she spoke, Mother merely held his face in her palms, searching his eyes. There was so much there—so much he had spent years looking for. Approval. Pride. Love.

And there it was.

She pressed a chaste kiss against his cheek, hands moving to give his shoulders a gentle squeeze before she slipped through the Floo. A newfound warmth emanated through him as his mother's softly spoken praise settled in—a contentment Draco wasn't sure he'd ever felt before.

The party dwindled as everyone finished their cake. People spoke of wanting to go home and get some rest. No one had to elaborate _why_ rest was needed after a simple cake and presents. It wasn't the party at all, but the prospect of tomorrow that drove everyone to retire early.

Tomorrow.

May Second.

There were gatherings planned. Speeches. Memorials to be unveiled. It was a daunting prospect, being expected to be present at all of those things. Draco was already exhausted just thinking about it.

And yet it was coming.

Today's party had been a lovely reprieve from the impending sorrow for everyone there.

By the time all the guests had gone and he and Hermione had helped Mrs. Weasley clean up, the sun was just beginning to sink lower in the sky, painting the countryside in lovely hues of gold. Shiloh began to fuss just as the last dry dish floated into the cupboards, and before Hermione could scoop her up, Mrs. Weasley beat her to it, insisting that she could bathe and change their daughter.

"Go on outside, you two. It's a lovely evening." She shooed them out the door and closed it promptly behind them.

Their feet carried them to the orchard, though Draco didn't really remember making a conscious decision to go there. All he felt was the warm breeze on his face and the feel of Hermione's fingers laced with his. When he glanced at her, he was struck with the resilience and beauty of the woman Hermione had become. The golden rays of the sunset painted her skin in dew and light.

"Is everything okay?" Hermione turned to face him, and there was a slight tilt to her head, her lips stretching in a small smile.

"Just thinking about how amazing you are."

Hermione's cheeks went pink, and Draco couldn't help the grin that spread across his face at her reaction. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"I don't know about _amazing_, but—"

"You are. Amazing. Wondrous. Marvelous. Extraordinary. Exquisite. and so many other things. The list is endless.."

She flushed scarlet.

They continued walking toward the orchard, hand in hand.

"You are too, you know."

Draco furrowed his brow. "I am what?"

"Amazing. Wondrous. Exquisite. All those words."

Draco felt his own face heat up. It was a lovely lie for Hermione to tell him.

"I like it when you get embarrassed, Draco. Your ears turn red. Did you know?"

Draco immediately clapped his hands over them.

"No, don't! Please. I like it, honestly. It's… adorable."

Heat radiated down his neck as Hermione reached for his hand again. They fell into a contented silence as they reached their destination. It wasn't like the difficult silences that had filled the space between them for the past several months. There was no invisible barrier to overcome. Instead, the air between them was comfortable. At ease. Serene.

"So many memories here." Hermione's gaze traveled around the orchard. "I kissed you here. We were _together_ for the first time here."

"At Bill and Fleur's wedding. I remember that."

"That summer seems so long ago."

"Do you remember how you made me wear Potter's old clothes?" Draco smirked at Hermione, who nudged him with her elbow.

"That's only because you would have looked funny riding a bike in your slacks and button-up. You know better now."

Draco shrugged. "I know _a lot_ better, I think."

Hermione gave him a knowing look, eyebrows raised slightly, the corners of her mouth turning up. Somehow, she knew that he wasn't just talking about Muggle clothes anymore. "You've grown."

"We both have."

Nodding, Hermione squeezed his hand. "You know, I always thought that if we could just get through the war, that everything would be fine. Everything would be easy compared to fighting Voldemort."

Draco flinched. Hermione squeezed his hand again.

"I was naïve in that way, I suppose," she continued, her eyes gazing up at the treetops. "I guess I didn't realize there were different types of pain. And that winning the war wouldn't solve all our problems. I mean, thinking about it _now,_ it's obvious. I actually feel kind of stupid."

"If there's one thing you're not, it's stupid." It was his turn to squeeze her hand.

Hermione's eyes shone with a gentle sort of love as she looked back at him. Draco's heart thumped a steady rhythm in his chest. It hit him once again that this—_right here,_ was exactly where he was supposed to be.

"Look," he said, his eyes trained on hers. "All I know is that we've both gone through some of the worst. And there's bound to be more difficulties in our future. But there's no one I'd rather go through it with than you."

Eyes watering slightly, Hermione turned into him and buried her face in his chest. Draco could feel her tears dampening his shirt, but he didn't particularly care. All that mattered was that Hermione was back in his arms. He might not have fully earned back her trust, but he swore to himself that he'd do anything to get there.

That same, comfortable stillness filled the crevices between their bodies once again. Draco buried his nose in Hermione's hair, inhaling the subtle scent. His thumb rubbed gentle circles on her back as he held her. Hermione just held him tight, steadfast, unmoving.

"I brought something out here," she whispered into his shirt after a minute. The sound was muffled slightly, but it didn't matter. Apart from her voice, the only other sounds were the soft chirps of grasshoppers and frogs in the distance.

"Yeah?" He spoke the words into the top of her head, his lips pressing gently against her forehead. "What's that?"

Hermione drew back for a moment and summoned something from within her beaded bag.

A flower. Protected by enchantments. It was blooming in vibrant petals of pink.

"A peony?" Draco cocked his head slightly.

"They always bloom this time of year." Hermione held the plant up, exposing its roots. "And I thought that we could plant it… for Scorpius."

Draco's heart clenched. A wave of pain threatened to crash over him. He had the urge to run. To punch something.

And then the urge faded as quickly as it came, leaving sadness in its wake.

It wasn't as raw as it had been, but it still left a deep aching in his chest.

"For Scorpius?"

Hermione nodded. "That way we can come visit him. Whenever we're here. And—" She nodded over toward a spot several feet away, where a small headstone sat. "I figured that Fred might like some company. He was always good with small kids."

They planted the peony plant together, digging in the dirt with their hands. Something about feeling the soft earth against the skin of his palms and fingertips felt cathartic. It was as though something about their journey with Scorpius finally felt right, and for the first time in weeks, Draco felt at peace.

He and Hermione lowered the plant in and patted the dirt around it. Hermione cast a soft, "Aguamenti," before they both sat cross-legged and stared at it until the sun disappeared around the horizon. Grief and unfulfilled dreams swirled around them as they sat in silence. Words didn't seem necessary. Not right now. Words would come slowly. Perhaps in the dark of the night as they laid in bed together. Or during a stroll around the lake.

They would come.

But for now, this was enough.

The anniversary of the end of the war passed without incident. It was a day full of gatherings. Everyone was dressed in formal, black robes. Draco mostly hung back during the dedications and speeches and mingling. It reminded him of all the funerals they had attended last year. Instead of a newborn, Draco now held a squirmy one year-old. Most of Minister Shacklebolt's speech was spent pacing around the back of the crowd as Shiloh explored the grassy grounds of Hogwarts.

He would have been self-conscious, had Harry Potter, himself not been doing the exact same thing with Teddy.

The day was a blur, and for Draco, it brought no sense of closure. The war had left behind a gaping wound that would take years to heal, if it ever did. He had spent the last year of his life raising a family on hallowed ground. It was a place that had seen so much death and grief, and yet, had been his family's first home.

They'd move on soon, to new places and experiences. And when they did, they'd still carry the weight of the war on their shoulders.

But somehow, Draco knew that they would be okay.

When it was all over and crowds began to disperse to the edge of the grounds, he and Hermione sat on the grass with their friends and classmates, chatting and watching Shiloh and Teddy play. There was grief there, yes, but there was also hope. The chance of happiness. Love.

Draco's thoughts lingered briefly on that portrait at Malfoy Manor. The family that had raised him had never offered him something this hopeful. This happy. This full of love.

He watched as Shiloh pressed a sloppy kiss on Hermione's lips, a dimpled smile stretching across her little, rosy cheeks.

This was happiness.

He wanted to remember it for when difficult times came again. Because they would come. Undoubtedly. Inevitably.

Draco's mind flicked back to the walls of the Granger's home. To the shelves and mantels, each lined with photo after photo of Hermione's happy childhood. _That _was what he wanted. Something to remind them of what was really important.

Perhaps he would send an owl tonight to find someone who could take photographs for them. He wanted to take family photographs, right here on the Hogwarts grounds. It was both a place of immense sadness and where their little gift of joy had been born. It was, much like their bodies and lives, littered with scars.

But those scars were theirs to live with. To claim. To overcome.

Just a few feet away, Shiloh shrieked with joy as a butterfly fluttered just past her nose.

They were going to have a happy life.

* * *

**I would happily send tissues to all of you if I could. **

**Next chapter there will be a bit of a time skip. **

**So much love to you all! **


	21. Chapter 21

**Okay, dear readers. It's time for the time skip. With the exception of some lingering grief centered around Scorpius, the angst is behind us. Do you like fluff? Is that what you signed up for when you originally read this fic? Well then, these final handful of chapters are for you. **

**All my love to MsMerlin and Graceful Lioness, without whom, this story wouldn't be nearly what it is. **

* * *

**July 2000, a year later.**

"Shiloh, love, you need to eat your carrots."

"Ti-loh no!"

"Two bites."

"Ti-loh no!"

The two year old sat in her booster seat at the dining table, her tiny arms folded across her chest and her face scrunched up in a dramatic pout.

Draco sighed and set his fork down, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Remind me again why we were so excited for her to talk?"

Hermione stifled a laugh as she watched her boyfriend and daughter practically imitate each other.

"She's just asserting her independence, Draco. Besides, it's likely our own fault that that's half of what she says. I sometimes feel like that's all we say to her."

Hermione vividly recalled a number of incidents around their home in Muggle London.

There was the time that Shiloh tried to pick up a dead mouse on the street.

There was also the time that their little gift of joy tried to flush her daddy's family crest—a priceless heirloom—down the toilet.

More frequently, there were incidents of colouring on walls and cutting up Hermione's parchment scrolls for work.

Each time, Draco and Hermione ran forward, arm outstretched, eyes wide, yelling, "Shiloh, no!"

The toddler had clearly picked up the phrase.

"Ti-loh no!" became a daily staple to the point that she refused to do practically everything her parents asked of her.

Take a nap?

"Ti-loh no!"

Put on a nappy?

"Ti-loh no!"

While Hermione did find it a bit vexing, she also knew that her daughter was just learning how to express her autonomy. Shiloh was growing up, turning into a tiny human and that's why Hermione did her best not to coddle her too much or show her frustration.

Draco, on the other hand…

He had already summoned the honey jar and a dab of butter from the kitchen.

"Shiloh, you don't like those nasty plain carrots, do you?" He cooed at the toddler, who was straining against the confines of her seat reaching for the sweet treat coming her way. "Well not to worry. Daddy's going to make them taste yummy."

It was Hermione's turn to sigh. "Draco… you do know that you can't keep sweetening up vegetables for her. She'll never learn to actually like them."

"I know, it's just—" He melted the butter over the carrots and then used his wand to pour a dollop of the honey over them as well. "—I can't stand to see her unhappy."

The next time Draco held a carrot out to Shiloh, she gobbled it up.

Hermione shook her head. "You're spoiling her, you know."

"_I _was spoiled, I'll have you know." Draco stood as Shiloh began to fist the sweetened carrots. "And look how I turned out."

"_Precisely."_ Hermione leaned in and kissed Draco's cheek. "Don't come crying when we get an owl from Hogwarts in several years telling us she's still having temper tantrums." She barely held back a giggle as the tips of Draco's ears turned pink.

The two of them had fallen into a content life together in the year since they'd finished Hogwarts. Admittedly, it had taken a while to feel wholly comfortable around Draco again. After Draco's blow-up following the loss of Scorpius, her trust in him had been shattered.

In that moment, Draco's words had hurt, but Hermione hadn't been some naïve young thing. She knew that he'd been speaking out of grief. She expected him to cool off for a bit and then come back and apologise. They'd move on from their loss somehow. Together.

But he didn't come back. Days passed without a single word. She saw him sitting at the Slytherin table with his old friends. Hermione stole a few glances at him, but every time she looked, he was looking determinedly at his food.

It was just like old times. She didn't exist in his eyes any longer.

That's when her grief really compounded. Ginny spent hours rubbing her back as she sobbed into a pillow up in the Gryffindor girls' dormitories.

Hermione had just about given up hope when Draco had finally turned up, practically groveling. She wasn't sure she was ready to forgive him back then. If she was ready to return to the life they had planned for themselves. Not easily, in any case.

Draco promised to start over—to take things slow in their relationship.

He promised to work on his anger.

To never, _ever_ treat her poorly again.

It had been a big promise, and frankly, one that Hermione wasn't sure he could make good on.

And yet.

Something shifted between them when they dug their fingers into the dirt of the Weasley's orchard together. Hermione wasn't sure exactly what had done it. Perhaps it was the rich earth that helped them grow. Perhaps it had been the simple act of doing something as one.

But Hermione had her suspicions that it was something else entirely.

Although she'd never voiced these ideas aloud, she sometimes wondered if it had been _Scorpius_ who had mended their bond. A part of her knew this was a silly thought to have—that her son was nothing but a memory now. But Hermione knew that she felt him sometimes. When the world was especially still. When a gentle breeze blew past her cheek. When early summer brought his peony back to full bloom.

She and Draco travelled to the Burrow last month just to see it. The flower had unfurled beautifully, its light pink petals swaying in the June air. The two of them sat by it for a long while, sometimes talking quietly to each other about one thing or another, other times sitting in silence. It was there, more than anywhere else, that Hermione felt Scorpius's presence, small but steady. He kept their hearts open—kept them unafraid to reach out and grasp each other's hands.

Draco always took her hand now.

He liked holding her hand. He held it when they were taking a walk in the nearby park; he held it when she visited him on his lunch break at St. Mungo's. He held her hand as they fell asleep at night, his fingers laced tightly with hers.

That's how they had started their relationship over.

All throughout the last summer, Hermione had insisted on limiting their intimacy to holding hands. It had been, admittedly, very difficult to reverse their relationship to that degree. Especially when Draco wandered out of the shower in a towel, his lean torso covered in droplets of water.

But Hermione was nothing if not a woman of moral integrity and she was stubborn to boot. It took her nearly three months of doing nothing but holding hands and talking before she kissed him. And even then, it had been just a peck on the lips.

Snogging didn't come back into the picture until New Years. Mrs. Weasley had agreed to watch Shiloh for the night while she and Draco went out to a party at the Zabini estate. The two Slytherin mates had made up the previous summer over a particularly strong bottle of firewhisky, and were now on good terms again.

After nearly a decade of befriending two men, and now watching Draco and Blaise… well, Hermione came to the conclusion that she would never understand male friendships.

Blaise Zabini was known to throw parties that ran on the wilder side, and by the time the countdown to midnight at this particular event began, the majority of his guests were drunk, dancing on tables and pairing off to find dark corners.

For Hermione, the whole thing was overwhelming. After spending her days at the Ministry and her evenings chasing down a toddler, the sights and sounds and _smells_ of carefree youth were novel and a bit strange in her eyes. Parties and socializing had never been her forte. Not to mention the fact that she was wearing the slinkiest dress she'd ever seen. Black and silky, it barely covered her essential assets. She kept tugging the skirt down in an attempt to feel more comfortable in her own skin, but no adjustments gave her any more coverage.

Had it been under any other circumstance, Hermione might have been tempted to make excuses and leave early. She would've much preferred to ring in the new year in her pyjamas with a glass of wine and one of the books Draco had gotten her for Christmas. But there was one little thing keeping her there, making small talk in high-heel shoes worth her while. It might have been silly, but she had hoped that this dress… these heels… coming to this party—they might entice her boyfriend to finally touch her the way she needed to be touched.

As they made their way around the parlor at the Zabini estate, Draco kept one hand on her lower back, just above her arse. The skin was bare there, just below, she was wearing the first lace knickers she had worn in months. Though her boyfriend hadn't watched her get dressed for the party, somehow she felt like he _knew._ Perhaps it was the way his thumb traced the dip in her spine that was just centimetres away. Or perhaps the way his fingers grazed the zipper there, like he was itching to pull it down.

After months of limited touching, the feel of Draco's skin on hers was driving her absolutely spare. Although she had set firm boundaries with him about physical contact, there was something about his hands that made her want to throw it all out the window and find a dark corner of their own.

As they chatted amiably with Pansy and some unknown tall, dark, handsome fellow from Italy—one of Zabini's cousins, Hermione guessed—Draco kept shooting her these _looks_. While Pansy went on and on about some shopping trip she planned to take in Rome next summer, Draco's eyes were fixed solely on Hermione, pupils dilated slightly. His jaw clenched and his lips twitched slightly.

And it only made Hermione's situation worse.

She had already consumed more champagne than she usually would allow herself to imbibe, and the sensation of Draco's fingers on her body was doing far more than offering her comfort. Hermione felt her stomach swoop whenever he looked at her through hooded eyes. And when his thumb dipped just below the zippered edge of her dress, she pressed her thighs together.

They needed to get out of here. Now. She needed to feel his hands _everywhere_.

Yet when Hermione raised an eyebrow and tilted her head slightly toward the Floo, Draco just smirked and carried on listening to Pansy's shopping plans. He didn't look at her again, though his hand continued to slowly turn her into putty.

When the clock finally struck midnight, it came as sweet relief to press her lips to his. They were soft and insistent. He tasted like the champagne they had been drinking all night. But when Draco started to pull away all too soon—strict with himself as he always was these days—Hermione knew that a single brush of the lips wouldn't be enough to satisfy her.

As mingling resumed in the aftermath of ringing in the new year, Hermione grabbed Draco's hand with an iron grip.

"We'll be headed home now," she spoke to Zabini, her tone far too perky. "Thank you for hosting us. We had a lovely time."

Hermione had just enough time to catch the knowing look Zabini shot Draco before she pulled them into the Floo.

The instant they arrived back home, Hermione's lips were on Draco's, pressing with the need she had felt for the past several hours. She backed him up into the wall beside the fireplace, her hands roaming down the tuxedo blazer she so desperately wanted to rip off of him.

So she did.

Draco made a choked sort of noise but didn't protest as she continued onto his trousers.

"Hermione, are you sure—?"

"Shut up and shag me, Draco Malfoy."

She honestly had no idea where these words were coming from, but once they were out there, it was like the floodgates opened. Within moments, Draco's hands found her arse, and he pulled her closer until she could feel his erection pressing insistently against the silky fabric of her—

"This damn dress," Draco whispered as he trailed kisses down her neck, "has been driving me spare all night. Since when do you own dresses like this?"

Hermione keened as he found a sweet spot near her pulsepoint. "Ginny—" Hermione moaned. "Ginny lent it to me."

Draco pushed the straps aside and continued to kiss down her chest. "Remind me to thank Weaslette later."

With a ferocity Hermione hadn't seen him express in bed before, he turned their bodies so it was _her_ pressed into the wall. He gripped the neckline of the dress and tugged. The garment fell to her waist, exposing her bare breasts. Draco wasted no time enveloping one in his mouth, covering the other with his palm.

His tongue swirled around her nipple and he bit down gently. A shiver ran through Hermione, and from her chest level, Draco shot her a cheeky grin before switching to her other breast to repeat the process.

Hermione tilted her head back, her eyes closing in relief. _This_ was what she needed. How had she gone so long without feeling Draco touch her like this? They had their issues to work through, sure, but it felt silly now, denying herself such pleasure.

For a moment, Draco's hands and mouth left her chest, and Hermione felt a sense of loss. But then his arms hooked around her thighs and dragged her off her feet toward the kitchen.

"I've wanted to have you here since we moved in." Draco set her down in front of the table and spread her knees apart. His eyes were blown wide with lust, slightly crazed and feral. "And you've been teasing me so much with that damned tiny robe of yours that you wear every morning. And now this dress…"

His fingers traced the seam of her dress, which was still on her body—barely. She shivered again.

"Almost, love. Almost," he crooned, his fingers drawing closer to the zipper.

It was almost torture, feeling the zipper slowly, _slowly_ travel over the curve of her arse. But Draco had found her breast again, and his mouth was ensuring she'd be wet somewhere else entirely.

When Hermione felt the dress pool at her feet, she felt Draco take a step back. She watched as he drank her in, wearing only high heels and her tiny lace knickers.

"You are _incredible_."

He looked at her as though she was a goddess.

She _felt_ like a goddess.

She _was_ a goddess in his eyes.

When he entered her for the first time in months, her arse pressed onto the surface of the kitchen table, it was like every prayer she had ever sent out into the world had been answered. He thrust into her without abandon, his own jaw slack and a string of curses on his lips.

This was what they needed. It was like turning the page, beginning a new chapter. They were done with the misfortunes of the past—done with the hurt and the pain and the tragedy. This was their future. Together. At last.

All in all, Draco lasted about four minutes before he came with a shout. The friction between her legs had been enough to give Hermione a small orgasm, and they collapsed into each other, chest to chest on the kitchen table.

A few minutes later, Draco sank to his knees and proceeded to give her a much stronger orgasm with his tongue.

It was bliss Hermione didn't know she could feel anymore.

From then on, sex became a regular part of their life again.

In their bed, in the shower, on the couch while Shiloh napped… their love life had never been better in Hermione's opinion. There was no need to sneak around and no shame at the regularity of their coupling. Of course, they still had their issues to work through. Living through a war, a late miscarriage, and a series of threats was enough to keep their therapist busy.

That, more than anything, was how she had grown close with Draco again.

It had been their neighbour's idea—their Muggle neighbour, to boot. Hermione and Draco took Shiloh to a local play group a couple times a month, and one of the women had been raving about her couple therapy sessions.

"I swear, it's like we're really hearing each other for the first time," the woman explained as she zipped up her toddler's jumper. "It's been so helpful to have someone to help us talk honestly with each other."

Hermione had shot Draco a pointed look as they walked home from the park that day.

They'd been having sex for a couple months, which had been great. But something still wasn't exactly right. It still felt as if they were properly discussing the trauma they'd faced and their neighbour's suggestion of therapy seemed like it might do the trick.

"What do you think?" she asked from behind the pushcar.

Draco rearranged the nappy bag on his shoulder. "What do I think of what?"

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Therapy. For us."

He shrugged. "Sounds odd if you ask me. Talking to a stranger about your relationship seems intrusive. Strange, these Muggles…"

"Oh, come off it." Hermione swatted him lightly on the shoulder. "It's a professional we'd be talking to. Someone who can help us get better at talking to each other."

"I don't know what you mean." Draco shifted the nappy bag again. "Both of us are far more proficient than average at talking."

"We're good at talking _at_ each other, but not _with_ each other."

"How very profound, Granger."

They rounded the corner toward their flat. Signs of winter were slowly starting to fade away with harsh, wet winds giving way to crisp, cool breezes. Trees, while still bare, were on the precipice of sprouting new life.

It seemed like a good time for a new beginning.

Nearly five months of couples' therapy later, and Hermione truly felt like their relationship had begun anew. Although Draco had huffed and puffed at first, he'd come around to the idea of therapy... eventually. The man even initiated exercises their therapist had suggested on occasion.

It was… _nice. _

As Spring turned to Summer and Shiloh turned more and more verbal each day, Hermione felt, for the first time, that her relationship with Draco was solid. They balanced work and home life well enough. They parented their daughter together. They spent their nights wrapped in each others' arms, their bodies intertwined in the most intimate of ways. And as they laid together in bed in the afterglow, they talked.

Just talked.

They talked about their days. About Shiloh's newest milestones. About their hopes for her future—for their future.

Sometimes, they talked about their fears. That was something new to both of them.

It reminded Hermione of that summer that seemed so long ago, when they had passed the time doing nothing but talking and riding bicycles and eating ice cream. It felt like a different life that they had been living back then.

But that was something their therapist had helped them with—helped them to see that all the difficulties of their past had brought them to this point. That they would never be those innocent teenagers again, but that didn't mean they couldn't get to a place where they could find happiness again.

At least, that's what it felt like. That they were finding their happiness.

One suggestion their therapist had put forward was to spend more time together, just the two of them. This wasn't the easiest task with a two year old in the house. They had brainstormed for an entire evening before they came up with the idea to eat lunch together at work.

It didn't happen every day, but Hermione made an effort to make it to St. Mungo's a couple times a week to share food with Draco in the Healer's breakroom. He would have come to visit her at the Ministry as well, if her boss hadn't been such a right bastard.

Hermione didn't use that title lightly.

Mr. Bluster was just as horrible of a boss as Hermione guessed when she met him two years previously during her famously disastrous appointment at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. He didn't approve of her taking time off when Shiloh was sick and he certainly didn't look happy when Draco brought sandwiches for them to share during one of their early lunches together. He'd stared at her with his beady eyes as they sat, hunched over in her cubicle together, his features so scrunched that Hermione couldn't see his eyes any longer.

They only ate at St. Mungo's after that.

Today was another day she was going to share lunch with Draco. Hermione had plans to pick up sausage rolls on the way to the hospital. She hummed as she finished her morning's work, her mind flitting to the way Draco indulged their daughter with sweetened vegetables last night—and then indulged _her_ in bed.

Her cheeks heated up at the memory.

Glancing at the clock, she noted that she had five more minutes before she could pop out of the office. She was just polishing off notes on her final memo for the morning when a familiar messy black head of hair appeared in her cubicle.

"Hi, Harry." Hermione rolled up the memo and piled it with the others on her desk. "How's it going?"

She turned to face him, only to find him grinning from ear to ear.

Harry Potter rarely grinned like this. Even well past his teenage years, he was prone to brooding. But he wasn't just grinning—he was _glowing._

"What on earth's got you so cheerful this morning?"

Harry's grin grew wider.

"I did it."

Hermione furrowed her brow. "Did what?"

"I've asked her."

"Asked who what?" Hermione placed her quill by her inkwell. Perhaps she would try the new corner store for sausage rolls today. They looked good the last time she had popped into that place.

"I asked Ginny to marry me."

Hermione froze, her hand wavering over the briefcase she had been about to pick up.

"You—_what?_ Harry!"

She was out of her chair in an instant, her arms wrapped around her friend so tightly she thought she might have heard a crunch. "Oooh, Harry! How wonderful! Ginny must be so excited. You know, she's been hinting to me for a while that she was waiting for you to ask." She drew back, holding her best friend at arm's length and grinning just as widely as him. "I assume she said yes?"

Harry radiated joy as he spoke in hushed tones. "She did."

Hermione squealed again, and Harry had to shush her. "I don't need this getting out just yet. Can you imagine the _Daily Prophet_?"

Grimacing, she stepped back and lifted her hand to cover her mouth. "Sorry, Harry. I can be discrete. You know I can."

Hermione took in her best friend. He really was a changed man from that skinny, too-bold-for-his-own-good little boy she'd met on the train nearly a decade ago. He was getting _married_, for Circe's sake…

When had they all gone and grown up?

"Any word as to when Draco's going to ask you?" Harry leaned against the wall of her cubicle, waggling his eyebrows slightly. "Word on the street is that he's completely in love with you."

Hermione felt her cheeks heat up at Harry's insinuation. "I… _Harry,_ that's very… I—" She was so flustered she couldn't bring herself to finish a single thought.

Harry just shrugged. "I bet he wants to ask you. Just hasn't gotten the nerve yet. Always was a bit of a coward, that one."

Shifting back, Hermione found her chair and sank into it. She leaned her elbow on the desk and massaged her temple with a sigh. "Honestly? We've talked about it before, but that was a long time ago."

"Maybe it's something you should revisit. Ginny'd like having someone to wedding plan with other than her mother."

He shot her a pointed look that made her lips curl up.

"As much as I can see where Ginny's coming from, Draco and I… we're happy as we are right now. Things finally feel good. Normal. I don't know if we're ready to change things up just yet."

Harry ran a hand through his hair. "Well, no matter what you both decide, I just want you to be happy. You know that, right?"

Hermione offered her best friend a tender smile. "I know that, Harry. Thank you."

Harry straightened and clapped his hands. "Right. I should tell you that Mrs. Weasley is throwing us an engagement dinner at the Burrow tonight. Everyone's invited, of course. I've been instructed to tell you to come hungry."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Would I ever _not_ come to the Burrow hungry?"

The second that Harry had gone, Hermione made a bee-line for the lift. Their conversation, while wonderful, bled into her lunch break by two precious minutes. There wouldn't be time for the uncertainty of a new place for lunch. She'd have to grab sausage rolls from the usual stall in the market around the corner from St. Mungo's.

By the time she made it to the visitor's entrance to the hospital, her hair was a bit frizzier than usual thanks to all the running she did in the summer heat. In her hand, she clutched a hefty plastic takeaway bag.

Draco had been training at St. Mungo's for nearly a year. He'd done rotations on most of the floors, and would soon begin concentrated learning in the paediatric wing. Even though he returned home exhausted most days, Hermione was sure she'd never seen him so content in the time they'd been close.

Hermione asked him about it one night as they laid awake in bed why he liked healing children so much.

He shrugged it off at first, but eventually she got him to admit something. "I get stared at everywhere, and no one talks to me. Kids, though…" He raked his hands through his hair and stared at the dark ceiling. "They're not afraid of me. I'm just the nice man doing their health scans."

Hermione turned her head and grinned. "Nice man, huh?"

Draco offered a half smile in return. "It's different from what I'm used to. But I like it."

Hermione liked seeing this nice man at work. It made her heart clench whenever she watched him kneel down to the eye level of his patients and offer them a sweet or play little games with them as he finished their check-ups.

He really was a nice man, seeing him like this not only confirmed how much she loved him—it also left her achingly sad that not everyone saw him as she did. As these children did.

Hermione made her way to the Healer's lounge like usual, greeting the occasional Healer who she met in the corridor. When she sat in one of the slightly-uncomfortable armchairs in the lounge, Draco came barreling in looking ready for a nap. He smiled when he caught her eye.

"Hello, love," he said as he made his way over and planted a kiss on her cheek.

"Busy day?"

Draco raked his hands through his hair. "Dragon Pox outbreak. Six kids were admitted this morning."

Hermione let out a low whistle. "You're being careful? I wouldn't want you to give it to Shiloh."

Draco's eyes softened as he reached for a sausage roll. "You know I always am."

They chatted about the upcoming paperwork Hermione was set to file later that day and about trying to take Shiloh out to a restaurant sometime. When they finished eating, they simply held hands and continued to chat about whatever topics came to mind. The hour was by far the most pleasant of Hermione's day, and she savoured every minute.

By the time she glanced at her watch, it was nearly time for her to return—by Floo, this time. She thought of the stack of parchment waiting for her in the cubicle and groaned internally. Had nothing of value happened today in her office?

Except...

"Oh, Draco!" Hermione's head popped up, a smile spreading across her face. "I forgot to tell you about Harry!"

Her boyfriend furrowed his eyebrows. "What about him?"

"He proposed to Ginny!"

Draco snorted. "Those two were always meant to tie the knot. Sickly sweet, if you ask me."

For all of her nonchalance about the topic in front of Harry, Hermione knew exactly what she wanted when it came to her relationship with Draco. It had taken her a long time to find confidence in them again, but she wasn't afraid to admit it to herself any longer: she wanted to marry him. She wanted to call him husband and grow old with him.

And even though she had faced down far scarier things in her life, she couldn't quite figure out how to broach the subject.

This, however, might have been the opportunity she was waiting for.

Hermione cleared her throat and leaned in a little closer to her boyfriend. "Are we?"

"Are we what?"

"Meant to?"

She watched as Draco's eyebrows rose and his face coloured slightly. He opened his mouth as if to reply when his wand started buzzing. And the near panic that clouded his eyes moments earlier faded to relief at the interruption that would have normally had him apologising.

Twisting, he pulled it from his holster and flicked it. A message floated in the air before him.

"I've got to go." Draco stood quickly, wiping his hands on his trousers. "One of the little girls with Dragon Pox coughed and accidentally lit her bed on fire. Poor thing's quite shaken."

With a kiss to her temple and a hurried, "See you tonight, love," Hermione was left alone in the Healer's lounge, wondering if his lack of an answer was simply due to distraction or whether it was something more.

The little family arrived at the Burrow via Apparition at six o'clock sharp, ready for the usual commotion that accompanied such an occasion. The house was already packed by the time they arrived, and Hermione had to squeeze past multiple redheads to grab a glass of wine in the kitchen. Before she made her way back to Draco, she slipped outside to get a moment to herself.

Mrs. Weasley had outdone herself as usual. A large spread was laid out on the expanded table out in the garden. Fairy lights floated all around the table, illuminating in a soft orange glow. Two chairs sat at the head of the table, both decorated with streamers and flowers. Above them, a large banner sat in mid-air. It read: "_Congratulations to The Boy Who Lived and The Girl Who Stole His Heart!" _

The garden would fill with people before long, and Hermione could already picture Harry and Ginny in her mind's eye when they caught a glimpse of the banner for the first time. Ginny would berate her mother for writing such a thing on a large banner for all to see. Harry would turn pink around the ears, but would secretly be pleased.

George would be poking fun of them.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley would beam as the couple sat beneath the sign.

Everyone would raise a toast.

So would she. It would be just lovely.

But if she closed her eyes, just for a moment, the glow of the lights still filtering through her eyelids, she could almost pretend that this was an engagement party for her and Draco. It was a larger part of her than she cared to admit that wanted to be the one sitting under an embarrassing banner, surrounded by family and friends as they toasted to their future.

She knew it was silly. Ridiculous. Fanciful. Selfish, even. She should just be happy for Harry and Ginny and be done with it.

But the longer she stood in the garden alone, a nauseating, bitter jealousy grew in the back of her throat.

Right after the war, Harry and Ginny had lived somewhat of a fairytale romance. Ginny often received love letters from Harry in the mail at Hogwarts. They made her laugh and blush over breakfast, and she clutched them to her chest all the way back up the stairs. In the year since finishing Hogwarts, they'd taken a trip to Southeast Asia together. They'd been to numerous Quidditch matches on dates.

And then he'd proposed.

Those were all the relationship milestones Hermione had never had. They'd started with a baby and war. Even after the danger had passed, they faced even more challenges. Threats. Loss. And yet here they still were, showing up to someone else's engagement party, their relationship in the same place it'd been stuck in for so long.

It made Hermione want to scream. She wanted one chance, all alone, to scream out into the world just how _unfair_ this all was.

But no.

Just as the burning jealousy flowed through her veins, it ebbed away, replaced by hot shame.

She was selfish.

So, so selfish for getting caught up in her own insecurities when she was here to celebrate Harry and Ginny.

It just wouldn't do.

Hermione tossed back her glass of wine and rolled her shoulders. Three steadying breaths later, she returned inside to the crowd, the imitation of a genuine smile plastered on her heartsick face.

The evening passed just as Hermione imagined it would. The whole affair was lovely. Toast after toast was given with Harry turning a deeper shade of red with each kind word and glass of wine. At one point, Bill, Charlie, and George each forced a glass of firewhisky on him. By the time everyone had finished speaking, Harry was looking more relaxed than Hermione had seen him in years.

Relaxed enough, it seemed, to whisper something in Ginny's ear and make her smack him in the back of the head.

Hermione managed to shove her jealousy to the back of her mind. She uttered a few words on behalf of the future bride and groom, her wine glass held high.

All in all, she would have been able to cope with the evening's events easily enough.

Except.

At just two months old, Victoire Weasley was this family's newest addition. Everyone oohed and aahed over her as she slept through most of supper in her mother's arms. It was apparent that she was the absolute apple of her parents' eye and the elder Mr. and Mrs. Weasleys' as well. The infant had been passed around to nearly every guest, who had all cooed about what a lovely baby she was.

"Would you like to hold her?" Fleur approached Hermione during dessert and held Victoire out to her with the tired but blissful smile of a new parent. "It's been so long since your little one was this small. I thought maybe you might miss it."

Truth be told, Hermione did miss it. She missed the sweetness of being able to fit her daughter in the nook of her elbow and the bond that came with breastfeeding. She missed how Shiloh used to smell and the little twitchy smiles she used to give when she was full of milk and sleepy. Not that she didn't love having a toddler. There were wonderful things about watching Shiloh recognize colours and learn new words.

And it would have been sweet and nostalgic to hold another baby in her arms.

Except.

Every time she looked at the blond wisps on Victoire's head or her dainty little fingers, Hermione thought she might be ill.

She hadn't been able to look at babies since she lost Scorpius.

Whenever she saw an infant in Diagon Alley or out and about in their Muggle neighbourhood, she'd avoid looking. Crossed the street if she could. Hermione was afraid that she'd be sick if her gaze lingered.

So when Fleur extended the offer to hold Victoire, Hermione's chest nearly caved in as she muttered a quick excuse about needing to get some air. Heart pounding and lungs constricting, she walked to the other side of the Burrow's garden, her whole body stiff as she tried her hardest not to make it look like she was running away. She barely comprehended Draco's narrowed eyes on her before she turned the corner out of sight.

The image of Victoire was burned in her memory. Barely-pudgy cheeks. Flailing arms. New, lopsided smiles. Everything she had been actively trying to avoid, shoved right under her nose.

Hermione heaved right into a patch of marigolds.

There was something oddly comforting about the burning in the back of her throat. Perhaps it was because her external pain matched how she felt on the inside. She gulped at the sweet, summer air. It was sticky. Thick. It felt heavy as she breathed it in.

Hermione closed her eyes, letting gravity take hold of her as she sank to her knees next to the soiled flowers. She spent so much of her time pretending that she was fine—and most days, she really _did_ feel fine—that sadness and grief tended to come in short bursts and overtake her like a tidal wave, leaving her raw and debilitated.

It was… _exhausting_.

As happy as she was for Harry and Ginny, all she wanted to do now was to go home and curl up in bed.

Like magic, Draco appeared around the corner of the Burrow, his blond fringe flopping over his forehead in the summer heat. The moment he knelt by her side, the tightness in her chest began to subside, if only a little.

She watched his eyes go wide as he spotted the pool of sick.

Vanishing it with the flick of his wand, his arms were around her the next second. The familiar weight and warmth of his body next to hers flooded her veins with comfort. It was almost as though Draco already knew.

Not that it would surprise Hermione. She'd voiced her fears during therapy sessions before. She talked at length about how she saw Scorpius in all of them. It was why she avoided babies these days.

Draco was a good listener. Had he remembered?

"It'll be okay." Draco's voice came as a soft comfort in her ear. "You'll be ready again one day."

He _did_ remember. Hermione's chest unclenched a bit further.

She didn't say anything, but instead, leaned her head on his shoulder. All around them, the sounds of a summer evening chirped and stirred, but they were perfectly still. Hermione focused on her breathing and on the soft scent of cologne that clung to Draco's neck.

"Did you want to go for a visit?"

The suggestion filled the silence, hanging in the sticky summer air.

Would it still be in bloom?

Did that matter?

Hermione nodded, and Draco pulled her up onto her feet. He kept an arm tucked snugly around her waist as they made their way to the orchard, just beyond the garden.

There, amongst the trees, stood their peony. Scorpius's peony.

It was still blooming, bright pink against the inky shades of evening.

The moment she saw it, a sense of peace washed over her. All the tension that had filled her muscles and the burning at the back of her throat made way for a sense of serenity. Of complete calm.

Hermione thought she might cry again, but instead of the telltale tightening of her jaw or stinging in her eyes, there was only calm. A small smile stretched the corners of her mouth.

It was hard to know how she knew it, but at that moment, it was so obvious.

O_ne day_—one day when more of her scars had healed, she'd be able to think of babies again.

But the most reassuring part of it all was that Draco would be there.

She was going to be fine. _They_ were going to be fine. So what if Draco hadn't proposed? They were happy. They loved each other.

Hermione reached down and laced her fingers with Draco's. He was staring at the peony with wet eyes, but the moment their hands connected, he blinked and turned his head.

"Are you okay?" He sniffed, eyes brightening.

Her sweet Draco. How he had grown. In years past—even months past, he would have never considered her feelings before his own. But here he was, trying to push his own grief to the side to make way for hers.

It made her feel whole and so, so proud.

"You were right," she said, smoothing his fringe with her free hand. "I'm going to be fine. Maybe not yet. But I will be. And I think you'll be all right, too."

Draco's mouth wobbled a little. "You think?"

"I know."

They both turned back to the peony. It really was beautiful. Beautiful and strong, it was everything they had hoped their son would be. His spirit still swirled around in the air, and Hermione felt a nudge within her to speak. To say what had been too hard to say before now. Even in therapy.

"When we're ready, do you want to have another baby?"

She felt Draco tense beside her. His grip on her hand tightened slightly.

"What if it attaches to the wrong side again and we lose it again?" Hermione heard him swallow before he continued. "I don't know if I could go through that again."

Hermione grimaced. "I know. I don't know if I could do it either. But I've been thinking. What if there was a way to mend my uterus? There might not be a magical way, but there could be a Muggle way."

Draco frowned, his brows knitting together. "Would that be safe?"

"I'm sure it'd be relatively safe. We'd have to do some research."

To her surprise, Draco snorted.

"Hermione Granger, doing what she does best: Research."

She shoved him lightly with her shoulder. "Hey. _I_ think it's a good idea."

Draco just shook his head with a small smile. He leaned down and kissed her on the top of her head. "It's a wonderful idea. I'd love to have another if we can. But if we can't, I need you to know that I'm okay with that, too. I'm more than happy with just Shiloh."

Though Draco smiled down at her as he spoke, she saw in his eyes that he wanted another child. _Children_, even. He was such a good father. So doting. So attentive. He deserved as many children as he wanted.

They'd both grown up as only children. From the stories they told to each other, it'd been a somewhat lonely experience on both ends, and there had always been an implication in those stories that they didn't want Shiloh to be lonely as well.

Hermione wasn't ready to make that a reality. Not yet. But she was ready to admit it's what she wanted.

One day.

For now, she was content.

* * *

**What's that? You want more fluff? If you insist! **

**I know how much you all wanted Draco to beg for forgiveness. Some of you weren't even sure if Draco deserved to be forgiven. I hope that I've painted a hopeful, realistic picture of what that forgiveness could look like. Hermione didn't leap back into his arms, but instead, they took their time retracing their relationship back to the beginning. And it's made them stronger. **

**So much love to you all. There are 7 more chapters, each fluffier than the last. **


	22. Chapter 22

**I hope everyone is having a good end of the year. Hard to believe that next time I post, it will (finally) be 2021. **

**This chapter takes places immediately following the last. I continue to really enjoy writing Shiloh. She's got quite the little personality. **

**Major love to MsMerlin and GracefulLioness. **

* * *

True to her nature, Hermione dove into research shortly after Harry and Ginny's engagement party. Draco watched as she came home from work an hour late one day in August. He'd cocked his head in her direction, about to open his mouth to ask what her delay had been as he played dollies with Shiloh from the living room floor.

And then she pulled out the books.

Stacks and stacks of books came out of that clever beaded bag of hers until they took up most of the kitchen table.

"Where are we supposed to eat?" Draco laughed as he made his way over to her, lips lifting into a smile. "I didn't know we were starting a library here in the kitchen."

Hermione just rolled her eyes. "Oh, hush. I'll organize them in a moment."

He scoured the titles as Hermione fished her wand out of its holster.

_Fertility for the Modern Woman_

_Conception and Fertility Book Guide_

_Conditions of the Uterus and Female Sexual Organs_

"Hermione, are these—? Are these what I think they're for?"

"_Wingardium Leviosa!_" She flicked her wand and the books flew gently in the air toward a cleared shelf in the living room. "I checked them out of the Muggle library down the street after work. I figured that I was ready to do that research we talked about."

Draco watched as a smile grew on Hermione's face. Her eyes danced. This was the Hermione he knew. The one who loved nothing more than a challenge she could solve by reading. And knowing her as well as he did, it was instantly obvious that this research would occupy all her free time.

After dinner, she sat down with one of the books and started the process. She also read before bed. In the morning, she read between bites of porridge. Although he wasn't there to prove it, he Draco had a sneaking suspicion that she read on between meetings and during all her breaks at the Ministry.

Before even a week had passed, she had filled nearly four whole rolls of parchment with notes.

Draco offered to read a few titles as well and take his own notes. "Two sets of eyes are more likely to find a solution than one," he insisted when Hermione brought home yet another stack of books.

While she was more than willing to lend him some of the books, she declined the note-taking, claiming she had a system worked out. Still, he kept a spare bit of parchment tucked in his bedside table, and would occasionally jot down interesting ideas or thoughts when he came across them. Although, he had to admit, reading the Muggle medical texts proved far more confusing than he had anticipated. He was a Healer, yes, but a paediatric one. His knowledge of female anatomy was rather limited to more pleasurable pursuits, specifically with Hermione. So when the books started using more technical terms, it became obvious rather quickly that he was out of his depth. Oftentimes, he had to clarify some of the more grisly details with Hermione as they sat side-by-side in bed.

"You mean they pull the baby out then sew you up? Like a darned sock or patched robes?" He indicated a rather graphic series of illustrations depicting the removal of a child from a woman's abdomen and the steps before and after.

Hermione glanced over at him from her side of the bed and rolled her eyes. "Yes, Draco. Are you reading about cesarean sections, then?"

The thought of retrieving a baby that way made him feel a bit lightheaded, and after that, Draco decided to leave the research to Hermione, who didn't seem fazed at all.

Draco took charge of Shiloh while Hermione buried herself in research. They had recently enrolled her in daycare and she seemed to take the whole thing with aplomb. Though she had cried on the first day, dragging her feet, kicking and screaming all the way to the classroom, she had dropped the dramatics after a week. Now, the two year-old toddled into the classroom with a grin each morning.

The teacher recently informed him that she was somewhat of a leader in the classroom. Which had been a point of pride at first until she went onto explain that meant encouraging other two year-olds to jump in mud puddles and take an extra pudding for her.

Then, he had been caught between momentary embarrassment and excitement that his daughter was definitely going to be sorted into Slytherin.

Cunning little thing.

Hermione was always mindful to take a break from her research to eat dinner as a family. Shiloh was slowly becoming a better conversationalist, answering questions about her day with the simple words she knew. Hermione always asked about what she was learning, and the two year-old was happy to oblige, bursting into various songs about days of the week or colours at the dinner table.

It certainly wasn't the sort of family dinner he had grown up with as a child. There were no house elves spoon feeding him at a little table in the nursery. Silence wasn't encouraged over conversation, and full place settings were not required.

It was infinitely better.

And as the weeks passed and Hermione brought home a second wave of books, Draco began to look at the fourth, empty side of their kitchen table with longing.

It was the perfect place for a high chair.

Draco wanted another child more than anything. When Scorpius had been conceived, the idea of a second baby was beyond overwhelming. It had sent him into panic. They had only been students at the time and were still recovering from the trauma of the war. Scorpius had been wanted, yes, but that love hadn't been immediate.

Now, Draco knew he had the love to give another baby.

He just didn't want to press Hermione too hard. Her job was already stressful enough thanks to her stupid boss, and they both knew that all her research might be for naught.

He didn't want to get his hopes up.

But still, as he tucked Shiloh into her big girl bed, he couldn't help but let his mind wander to the cot they had tucked away in the back of a closet.

It wasn't until Halloween came and went that Hermione sat down with him one evening, a sparkle in her eye. Shiloh was already fast asleep, and they sat in the living room surrounded by scattered toys both magical and muggle.

"I found it."

Draco's eyebrows shot up. "Found it?"

Hermione summoned a book from her shelf of library volumes and opened it to a bookmarked page. She turned the title in his direction and indicated a chapter title with her finger.

_Uterine Scar Tissue Removal Procedures_

"Can a Muggle Healer—"

"A doctor."

"Can a doctor do this? Remove scars?" His eyes scoured the page, trying to absorb information like his girlfriend had.

Hermione nodded. "They can. I'd need to see a Gynaecologist—that's a doctor who works with women. They'd likely refer me to a surgeon."

"Surgeon?" Draco balked. His mind whipped back to the horrific illustrations in the last Muggle medical text he'd read. "As in surgery? Like, cutting you open?"

"Well, yes. But—"

"Absolutely not."

He watched as Hermione got the annoyed glint in her eye that she always got when trying to explain something Muggle. Even though he sometimes thought it was cute, he was too consumed with the images that flooded into his head at the thought of someone taking a knife to her.

"It's perfectly safe, Draco. I'll be fast asleep the whole time. People who do this job have gone to school for it. Trained for years." Hermione reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder, offering him comfort. As if _he_ was the one who would be cut open. "And besides, many procedures involving uterine scarring don't involve surgery like you're thinking. We'd have to talk to a doctor to be sure, but I'm quite sure it's a simple procedure."

Draco recognised the fire in Hermione's eyes. There was certainty there. Determination. Not fear.

He flipped through the chapter of the book Hermione had handed him. There was more medical jargon. A few anatomical diagrams.

Frankly, he wanted to put a stop to the whole thing. Call it off. Tell Hermione he'd be satisfied with one child and to not put her life at risk. But as he looked up from the book, his eye caught sight of the fourth, empty side of the table. Right where a baby would go while they ate their family dinner together.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he sighed deeply. "Well, if you're sure…"

"I am."

_No fear. _

Draco's jaw set and he pursed his lips. "Well then, it looks like we need to take you to the doctor, Granger."

The Muggle doctor seemed competent... enough.

Like Hermione, her office was lined with stacks and stacks of books. This, more than anything, seemed to give Hermione confidence. He watched the way she perked up the moment they sat down in leather chairs across from the doctor at her desk.

Much as anticipated, Hermione was diagnosed with uterine scarring. To confirm, the doctor performed a procedure that reminded Draco of the one antenatal appointment he had been able to attend before Shiloh was born. The doctor stared at a little black and white telly while moving an object over Hermione's stomach, and was somehow able to discern scarring from the fuzzy image. The doctor explained that while it was normally an outpatient procedure, the severity of scarring required more invasive work and an overnight stay.

Surgery was scheduled for shortly before Christmas.

Hermione was looking forward to the event, it seemed. Or at the very least, was eager to have it over and done with. She crossed off a square on her wall calendar every morning before breakfast as she counted down the days until the procedure.

Draco had a similar sort of daily activity. Only _his_ didn't involve crossing anything off or counting. Every morning, right after Hermione left for the Ministry, Draco went to his dresser and pulled out a small box from his sock drawer.

He'd had it for over a year, now. Carried around in his pocket every once in a while. It wasn't a family heirloom like his mother had offered to him. Hermione deserved something fresh. Untainted. Entirely her own.

It was a simple design, much like she'd prefer it to be, with a modest diamond and a delicate embellishment of vines in the band. And on the inside, a small engraving.

It was the perfect engagement ring for Hermione, or at least he hoped.

The only problem was that he hadn't yet found the perfect time to ask.

And of course, that she still had to say yes.

More recently, he'd settled on Christmas. He'd get down on one knee in front of the Christmas tree. Maybe have Shiloh bring the box over. Maybe he'd take her ice skating or to some romantic place all lit up with fairy lights. The details were still a bit foggy.

But the goal had been Christmas until that damn surgery had been scheduled.

Now, he woke up each day with a never-ending barrage of what-ifs weighing on his chest, and the thought of never being able to ask the love of his life to marry him made a terrible, existential sadness sit deep in his bones.

Whenever Draco had a moment to himself in recent weeks, he liked to take the box out of its hiding place. Turn it over in his hands and think.

Knowing Hermione, she was completely focused on the surgery. Anything else—even something as life-changing as a proposal, would be considered a distraction. And yet, Draco wanted to do something for her. Something big. A grand gesture, even.

So he turned the box over and over in his hands and thought.

And then he sent an owl.

Three days before the surgery was set to take place, Draco begged off work for the afternoon, changing out of his Healer robes and into a pair of Muggle trousers and his Weasley jumper. Checking his watch, he Apparated to a quiet corner of Heathrow and waited on a bench.

The taxi back home was awkward and silent, but for Hermione, he would do anything.

Stepping through the front door, he was instantly greeted by the pitter-patter of little feet.

"Daddy!" Shiloh came careening toward them from the living room where she had clearly been watching telly. He scooped up his daughter and she planted an innocent smack of a kiss on his lips.

Her attention then turned to the two guests behind him.

"Daddy, who's that?"

He had been about to open his mouth when he saw Hermione turn the corner from the kitchen, where she had been cooking dinner.

The saucepan in her hand fell to the floor with a clatter.

"Shiloh, love. This is your Grandma and Grandpa Granger. Mummy's parents."

The Grangers stood in the doorway, looking slightly frazzled and slightly out of place in heavy Muggle coats.

Draco hovered off to the side, unsure of whether he should stay to mediate or step away to offer privacy.

He settled on a solution halfway between, keeping Shiloh in his arms and retreating just out of sight to the kitchen.

"Come on, pixie. Let's finish dinner while Mummy says hello to her parents. _Scourgify!_"

The mess from the dropped saucepan disappeared. As he passed by Hermione, who stood frozen, her mouth agape, he leaned in so his mouth was right by her ear.

"If you want to hex me for this, do it later, please."

Based on her facial expression, Draco couldn't quite tell if she wanted to kill him or kiss him. Perhaps both.

In the kitchen, he set Shiloh down on the counter and fetched the small basket of takeaway menus they kept on hand. Shiloh pointed at the pictures and began a laundry list of foods she wanted for dinner, ranging from chips to kebab to pizza.

"Daddy, I wan' taw-bery cake too!"

He was doing his best to pay attention to his daughter with one ear and eavesdrop with the other. As far as he could tell, Hermione and her parents were talking. Their voices were rather hushed. He bent his head, unable to help but think that now would have been the perfect time for an Extendable Ear.

"—_should've come and visited—"_

"—_heard about your surgery—"_

"—_sorry—"_

"Daddy!"

Draco blinked. He turned to see Shiloh wearing a large pout.

"I wan' taw-bery cake, okay?"

"—_how __**dare**_ _you—"_

Draco mentally cursed. He knew that tone of voice anywhere. Perhaps he should have stayed to mediate.

Shiloh started tugging on his sleeve. "Sure, pixie. Whatever you want." He waved his hand and Shiloh gave a delighted cry.

In the other room, he heard cries of another sort. Begging Merlin silently that this hadn't all been a massive mistake Draco lifted Shiloh down from the counter and poked his head around the corner to see into the entryway.

Hermione was sandwiched between her parents. Her head was buried in her dad's chest and her mum stroked her head gently. Their arms surrounded her and tears flowed freely among the three of them.

Peeking out between her dad's parka and her mane of curls, a tiny smile pulled at Hermione's lips.

The smile stayed all the way through dinner, even as Shiloh demanded the strawberry cake she had been promised. It stayed as they bid her parents goodnight and guided them to the guest bedroom. It stayed even as they prepared for bed.

Draco had braced himself for the confrontation of a lifetime—for his own barrage of "_how dare yous_" to come the second their bedroom door was closed and silenced.

What he hadn't expected was for Hermione to sink to her knees and give him the best blowjob of his life.

"Does this mean I should spring relatives on you unexpectedly more often?" He managed through heavy breath as he laid spreadeagled on their bed, eyes drooping with pleasant exhaustion. "Because if that's my reward, then I'll be happy to find all your long-lost great aunts."

Draco's smirk was met with his favourite fiery gaze.

"I love you, Draco Malfoy, but you got lucky this time. If you ever do something like that again, I will personally poison your pumpkin juice."

With a final and brief kiss, Hermione turned over onto her side to sleep.

Draco stretched out on his side of the bed, thoroughly spent and sated. Although Hermione had meant her words to be a threat, it was a risk he might be willing to take if it meant seeing that fire again.

Getting sucked off again might also be good.

It wasn't until the Grangers arrived in the UK that Hermione's nerves about the surgery began to show. The brave face she had been wearing crumpled overnight. She could hardly eat a bite of anything in front of her. Her leg bounced whenever she was sitting and her hands fidgeted in her lap. She lost track of her thoughts in the middle of sentences and nearly Flooed to the wrong destination twice.

Draco thought it would be stressful to have Hermione's parents around, but they were more than happy to watch Shiloh. Otherwise, Draco might have felt like he was taking care of two toddlers.

Hermione had taken the rest of the week off to spend time with her parents before the surgery. Having her around more meant that Draco didn't have the same opportunities he usually did to take the box out of his dresser drawer and contemplate his impending proposal. It just seemed too risky. The idea of being caught with the ring in his hands was practically mortifying.

Perhaps he should have left it in the drawer. Just waited until Christmas and asked in a simple way as they unwrapped presents. But he always thought best about the whole situation when he could feel the texture of the box against his fingertips.

Against his own better judgment, Draco began carrying it around in the pocket of his robes. When he had idle time—between patients at St. Mungo's or while he waited for the chicken he was preparing to cook all the way through, he'd place his hand inside and fiddle with it, contemplating possibilities of how to ask Hermione Granger to marry him.

The morning of the surgery, Draco Flooed to the Weasleys. They had agreed to watch Shiloh for the day while he and the Grangers accompanied Hermione to the hospital to wait there throughout the duration of the surgery.

Draco watched as Hermione hugged their daughter tightly before they stepped into the fireplace.

"Mummy, you squeeze me too tight," the toddler complained in a slightly squeakier voice than normal.

There was a small sniff and a drying of tears. Shiloh tilted her head and furrowed her brows in a way that reminded Draco exactly of Hermione when she was trying to understand a difficult text.

"Don't cry, Mummy." Shiloh placed her tiny hands on Hermione's cheeks. "You have a boo-boo?"

Hermione gave another sniff, but smiled through this one. "No, pixie. Mummy doesn't have a boo-boo. I'm just feeling a little sad this morning. But I want you to have fun with Nana Molly and Papa Arthur today, okay?"

Shiloh beamed and her eyes lit up, troubles instantly forgotten. "Nana Molly! Nana Molly!" She hopped toward the fireplace, arms in the air. He stepped up to the fireplace as well. The last thing he saw before he and Shiloh disappeared in a burst of emerald flames was Hermione's face, tear-stained and wearing a forced smile.

Dropping Shiloh off was relatively easy. The two year-old hardly said goodbye. She just ran straight into Mrs. Weasley's arms, easily distracted by the prospect of baking Christmas treats and a mug of hot chocolate.

Before he returned home, Mrs. Weasley shot him a knowing look through her armful of toddler.

_Be brave_, she seemed to say. _Everything will be okay._

Bravery had never been his specialty.

The ride to the hospital was a quiet one. Draco wasn't sure he'd ever get used to Muggle cars, but the Grangers had insisted on renting one for the duration of their visit, explaining in slightly superior tones that they didn't think Hermione should Apparate after surgery.

He'd thought about making some sort of comment about how lovely it was that they finally cared about their daughter's wellbeing, but he bit his tongue instead.

They _were _trying. It had taken a handful of tense, silent meals and a couple shouting matches, but Hermione and her parents seemed to have reached a sort of equilibrium. In the darkness of their bedroom, she admitted to him that she was ready to move on—to forgive them for abandoning her. There had been many conversations that he had not been privy to. Many moments between parents and child. Three days wasn't much time to mend such deep wounds. That was something Draco knew well.

But when Hermione began to shake on the car ride over, her mum turned around from the front passenger's seat and offered her hand. Hermione clung to it like a lost child. As much as Draco liked to feel needed, in this moment, he knew Hermione needed a parental figure.

Though he had meant their presence to be a grand, sweeping gesture, Draco found that he didn't need a thank you. Just seeing them together was enough.

Hermione checked herself into the hospital while Draco hovered just behind her, listening closely. He'd have stepped in and ensured more details of her stay, but was relatively useless when it came to talking to Muggles.

He'd learned that the hard way when they first moved to their neighbourhood. Another family that lived down the street had started talking about buying a new car, and the husband had deliberately tried to engage Draco in a discussion about _makes_ and _models_, but it was all Draco could do to remember that cars worked by pressing down pedals. He'd barely made it through riding a bike, and frankly, didn't very much feel like risking life and limb to learn how to drive automobiles. He was quite happy to stick with his Wizarding methods of transportation.

Despite his reluctance to welcome every aspect of Muggle life, it had been humbling, living amongst Muggles. Sometimes it felt like that's all Draco had been doing for years—continuously eating humble pie. The friendships he had with his old Slytherin crowd had suffered a bit for it, but that didn't matter. Not really. The friends who mattered stuck around.

Theo, mostly.

He'd sent an owl over the day before asking if there was anything he could do while Hermione had surgery.

Theo Nott had turned into a decent bloke. There were even rumours that he was spending a lot of time with Longbottom and his Hufflepuff girlfriend. Abbott. Hermione was innocently convinced that they had a delightful friendship, but knowing Theo as well as he did, Draco could only chuckle at his girlfriend's naïveté.

When Hermione finished signing in, a nurse emerged from a set of double doors to escort her back to the ward.

Her mum burst into tears.

Although Draco could see the fear in his girlfriend's eyes, she was the one who stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her mother, patting her back gently.

"I'll be just fine, Mum. It's a routine surgery."

"I know." Her mum wiped away tears from her cheeks. "Just being silly."

After sharing a brief hug with both her parents, Hermione held out her hand to Draco. "Ready?"

Was he ready to sit idly by while his girlfriend was cut open so they had a chance at having another child?

He nodded. "Ready."

The nurse was kind enough, and she seemed skilled as she ran through pre-surgery procedures. Draco marveled a bit at all of the unfamiliar metal instruments in the examination room, and after the nurse left to fetch the doctor, she hissed at him several times to stop touching everything.

Normally he wouldn't engage in such childish behavior, but it seemed to distract Hermione from the nerves she was clearly trying to suppress.

Her legs were bouncing, hands fidgeting, and she hadn't stopped biting her lip since arriving at the hospital. In her eyes, the usual fire had been replaced by fear.

Her brave facade stayed on while the surgeon popped in and reviewed the procedure one last time. It was only when a different nurse had hooked up some sort of tube to her arm that the mask she had been wearing began to crack.

It started with her breathing. It became shallow. Ragged. Rasping.

"Are you okay, love?" Draco was sitting on the edge of her hospital bed, fiddling with the flimsy excuse of a blanket when he noticed the change. "Do you need me to get a heal—er, nurse?"

She shook her head, closing her eyes as she clearly tried to steady herself.

Draco watched, moving to place his hand over hers.

Then came the shaking. It started all at once. One moment, she had been leaning back against the pillows and the next, she was sitting up, her torso and arms convulsing.

Draco stood, ready to get a nurse.

And then she started to cry.

Great sobs wracked her body, and there was no way he was about to leave her side. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and rubbed circles along her shaky back.

"What's wrong?" He frowned, confusion seeping into his brain. "Does it hurt? Is there something wrong with your… thing?" His eyes flicked to the tubes. They looked complicated.

It took a minute for Hermione to respond. She continued to shake, but Draco felt her purposely trying to steady her breathing. When she finally looked up at him, her eyes were wide—unseeing, almost. Swimming with tears. Her lips were trembling.

"I'm scared, Draco." She swallowed and gripped his hand in an iron grip. "What if—" Hermione sniffed. "—what if all this was for nothing? What if I'm still b-broken? What if something goes wrong and I—"

"Don't even say it." Draco cut her off, scooting closer. "It's going to be fine, Hermione. You're going to be fine."

"But what if I'm not going to be fine? What if something happens? What if you're left alone with Shiloh and you're forced to marry some awful Pureblood witch? Or what if it doesn't work and you still marry someone else? What if she's able to give you the heir you deserve when I can't?"

She was babbling now, and the tears had returned in full.

Draco wasn't sure quite what to say.

Was this what Hermione had been afraid of? They'd started up therapy again since scheduling the surgery. Why hadn't she mentioned anything? Mostly, she'd seemed excited.

Had she been lying? Or had he missed some cue?

And to think that she was worried about him running into someone else's arms...

He shook himself, trying to stay in the moment. He needed to do something. Say something.

"Love, I'm not marrying anyone else."

It seemed so obvious to him. Was it not? He pushed on.

"I want your surgery to go well. Of course I do. But if we still can't have another baby, we'll be okay."

Draco rearranged himself on the bed so their bodies aligned. He reached out, cradling her face with one hand. She leaned into his touch, closing her eyes.

"I love you, Hermione. If the only child we have is Shiloh, that's more than enough for me. I won't press for another child. If you thought I wanted you to do this because I expected another baby, then I'm so sorry I gave that impression."

Hermione shook her head against his palm. "It wasn't you. I put so much pressure on myself… you know how I am."

"Yeah. I know." Draco managed a small snort. "But you don't need to. I love our life. I love you. And there's no one else that I'm going to marry."

The small box in his pocket suddenly felt very heavy.

He wanted to wait for Christmas. For a quiet, joyous occasion when he could make it memorable. For a moment when Hermione wasn't crying and he didn't have a porridge stain from Shiloh's breakfast on his trousers.

But something told him this was the moment he'd been waiting for.

"You can't know that, Draco. You can't know how you're going to feel when the doctor tells us that I can't have any more children and—"

"_Hermione."_

Draco moved his hand from her cheek and slid off the bed to stand.

Hermione drew back, as though she'd been burned. She looked an absolute mess. The shaking had largely subsided by now, but her face was a mess of tears.

She was beautiful.

"Hermione, love, _you_ are the only woman I want. Ever since you showed me how to ride a bike, I've been long gone. You are the mother of my child and my best friend, and if you think that anything is going to change that, you're daft."

His fingers brushed the edges of the box.

If this was going to be the moment, he had to give it his all. Put it all on the line.

"But I know you, Hermione Granger. You're the smartest damn witch I ever met. So from now on, you should know that I'm not going anywhere. You're stuck with me, woman. Another baby or not, you're it."

His palm closed around the box.

"You are more than enough for me. You and Shiloh. You're all I'll ever need. Anything else would just, well—" A smile grew on his face as he found the right word. "—Anything else would be a gift."

Hermione was sitting up straight now. Though the vestiges of tears still painted her face, any traces of sadness had gone. Instead, her wide eyes searched his, waiting, anticipating—_disbelieving_.

He pulled out the box.

Hermione took one, deep, rattling breath.

_Now or never, Malfoy._

He got down on one knee.

"Hermione Jean Granger, I love you. You're everything to me. The life we have is better than anything I could have ever imagined. You saved me from the darkest sides of myself. You save me every day. All I want to do is be by your side for whatever else comes our way."

He opened the box.

"Will you marry me?"

Although it was likely only a half-second that the world around him seemed to stop, it felt like an eternity. The air didn't stir. Sound didn't reach his ears. He wasn't even sure he blinked.

And then she nodded.

At the exact moment that he stood and Hermione fell forward into his arms, two figures walked into the room. Although Draco couldn't see them—his face was pressed into Hermione's hair, he could hear their footsteps and the immediate silence that fell over them.

"Yes, Draco. _Yes._" The words were muffled against his jumper.

All else was forgotten as he slipped the ring on her finger. Drach watched as the eyes that had been filled with fear moments before now held only wonder and love.

The nurses or doctors or whoever they hell they were applauded as Hermione hugged him again.

"Well then." One of the professionals stepped forward. "It's always best if a patient's in a good mood. What do you say we get your anaesthesia going? It's time to get you down to the OR."

Draco squeezed her hand. "It'll all be okay, love. I'll be here waiting for you when you get out."

She steeled herself as the Muggle healers messed with the tubes a bit and prepared to move her bed.

"See you after, fiancé?" There was a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she laid back on the hospital bed.

"I promise."

Waiting for the surgery to finish was the oddest form of torture Draco had ever experienced. Not because waiting, not knowing if someone was going to be okay, was unfamiliar to him.

No, it was odd because of Hermione's parents.

They spent the entire surgery pacing back and forth. Occasionally, distractions would come in the form of a magazine or a bag of crisps, but for the most part, they paced. To the double doors. And back. And to the double doors again. And then back.

It grated on Draco's nerves.

But he didn't snap.

How could he?

He had just proposed to Hermione and she had said yes. He was floating higher than any broomstick could carry him.

And of course, he could have easily put a stop to all the pacing by making the announcement to them. It would have made for a lovely distraction.

But he hadn't told her parents yet. He wanted to wait until she was there. Until she could take the brunt of their response.

And so he put up with the pacing.

For nearly four hours.

When the surgeon finally stepped through the double doors and removed his mask, Draco stood, his hands wringing in his lap. The Grangers stopped pacing.

The surgeon smiled.

Draco was lighter than air. He could have put up with a full day of pacing if it meant this was the outcome.

"It went incredibly well. We were able to remove all the scarring." The surgeon spoke as she led all three of them to the recovery room. Their shoes clicked on the shiny floors.

"And future children?" Draco swallowed as he waited for a response.

"Only time will tell." The surgeon led them through another set of double doors. "But I don't see any anatomical reason that Miss Granger should have trouble conceiving and carrying a child at this point."

Draco wanted to cry.

He wasn't sure what to expect when the surgeon led them to the recovery room. Half of him expected to see Hermione hooked up to a multitude of tubes, pale, and covered in scars. Instead, he found her much in the same state as he had left her earlier in the day. She was sleeping, her chest moving in a steady rhythm. Behind her, some electric thing beeped.

Draco reached forward and took her head.

Hermione's eyes fluttered open.

"D-raco?" Her speech was slurred as she looked at him through hooded eyes. "That you?"

"It's me, love. You're all finished with surgery."

He settled on the edge of her bed, much in the same place he had been before he proposed. Her parents hovered near her feet.

"Did I win?"

Draco frowned. It was like someone had cast a _Confundus_ charm on her. Or had made her incredibly drunk. "Win? Hermione, you didn't—"

"Of course you did, sweetheart." Hermione's mum butted in, smiling benignly at her daughter.

"Oh goodie." Hermione giggled. "I like winning."

"We know you do, darling." Her dad patted her foot over the thin hospital blanket. When Draco furrowed his eyebrows, he whispered back, "It's the medicine. It helps with the pain but makes her a bit loopy."

Ah. Well that explained it.

Why Muggles couldn't come up with a way to manage pain without inhibiting brain function was beyond him.

"You know what else I won?" A dreamy smile floated across Hermione's face, and Draco was reminded clearly of Luna Lovegood.

"What's that, dear?" Her mum piped up.

"I won at life. I won Draco! He's my fee-on-say!" She rolled her head to grin at him. "Such a handsome fee-on-say."

Draco felt himself go purple as the Grangers' jaws dropped.

Hermione just looked confused.

"Why do you all look like that?" She rounded on Draco with the timing of a sloth. "Draco, are we still getting married?"

The pout on her face was so cute. It was hard to keep himself from laughing.

He vowed to buy a pensieve this week and store the memory there. Salazar knew it would be fun to lord this over her when she sobered up.

"Of course," he cooed, petting her hand. "We're still getting married."

She tilted her head back and closed her eyes. "Thank goodness. For a minute, I thought I dreamed it all."

Draco grinned to himself as the Grangers closed in on them for the beginnings of their enthusiastic reaction.

It wasn't a dream at all.

* * *

**High Hermione might be my favorite. I've imagined this proposal quite a number of times, and this was the way that seemed right. I hope you all liked it and it seemed right. **

**On the next posting date, I will be traveling all day, so I might post a day early or late. But there will be a new chapter for the new year! **

**Cheers! I would love to know your thoughts as always. **

**Happy holidays! **


	23. Chapter 23

**I adore how much you all loved high Hermione. She was so, so fun to write. I hope you've enjoyed hopping aboard the fluff train. Because there's no sign it's stopping. **

**Alphabet love to MsMerlin and Graceful Lioness as always. **

* * *

Hermione panted, her breath brushing across Draco's skin. Her hands searched for purchase on his back as he thrust into her roughly. She settled on the nape of his neck, her fingers curling into the hair there.

"_God, Draco—"_

"_Fuck—"_

It hit her all at once, spreading from her centre, down her legs and up her torso, all the way to her extremities. As her climax swirled inside her, Hermione's mouth fell open and she gave a strangled cry. Above her, Draco followed moments later before he laid his chest against hers, pressing soft kisses against her collarbone.

Hermione could still feel her fiancé inside her, his cock slowly softening with each pulse.

Not worrying about contraceptive potion was a different feeling.

Not just wanting him, but also wanting the act to mean something—to conceive.

Ever since she had recovered from the surgery nearly five months ago, Hermione hadn't taken the potion. Draco hadn't cast the charm. They simply decided… to see what would happen.

It wasn't as though they were trying. They simply weren't _not_ trying. There had been no ovulation calendars. No scheduled shagging. Just… fewer precautions.

All their hard work hadn't yielded any positive charms yet. But Hermione was having fun anyway. Really, trying to conceive a baby was just more of an excuse to explore a side of herself she hadn't bothered to before.

Sex had never been a priority. Even during their eighth year, when the war had ended and they had express permission from Minerva to live together. So much had happened that year. Rebuilding her relationship with Draco from the ground up required some shagging, yes, but it had never been something Hermione had actively craved. Never something that she thought of as a vital part of her life.

But recently…

Draco had been completely on board with exploring with her. In fact, he got quite the glint in his eye when Hermione initially suggested, cheeks pink, that she might like to be a bit more adventurous. Try new things.

And oh, what results their experiments had brought.

For example, Hermione had never really seen the appeal of someone's face between her legs. She had heard older girls gossiping about it through cracked doorways in Gryffindor Tower, but it had seemed embarrassing at the time. Someone's head… _there?_ What about hair? What about the smell or the taste? Surely, it was far from tempting.

But now Hermione understood the appeal perfectly well, thank you very much.

It had taken some guidance and a bit of fumbling at first, but she now had a whole new appreciation for Draco's tongue and lips. Sometimes, just the sight of them was enough to make thighs rub together. And whatever she was like down there, Draco seemed to fully appreciate her. When his face was buried between her legs, he was like a man possessed, whose thirst needed to be quenched by her and her alone.

Thinking about it got her hot and bothered these days.

Sometimes, she even thought about it at the most inconvenient times.

For instance, when she was at work.

In a meeting.

That very morning, Draco had taken her on the kitchen counter, her skirt bunched up around her waist. But not before lowering himself onto his knees…

She couldn't think about this. Not now.

The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures had been under intense scrutiny ever since the department head, the horrendous Mr. Bluster, had been found squandering away Ministry funds for personal gain.

Ever since his departure, the place had become a far better place to work. Enjoyable, even. The new department head, Athena Godfried, was a tough woman. She was a transfer from the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad. She seemed open-minded enough, stopping by cubicles throughout the day to inquire about various projects happening in the office.

Athena had lingered quite a while at Hermione's cubicle, asking many about the werewolf legislation she was currently drafting.

And then, out of the blue, she asked if Hermione would present her legislation to the entire department.

So there she was, at perhaps the most important meeting of her life, remembering the feeling of Draco's mouth on her, and the feeling of his hair sliding between her fingers. She was certain her face was scarlet. It felt hot enough to be.

"As you can see—" She gestured to the bar graph on the large, floating parchment at the head of the room, "—the werewolf population has been decreasing at an alarming rate. Not because fewer bites are taking place, but because of the services they are consistently denied."

Hermione kept her eyes trained on a spot on the back wall of the conference room. She didn't want to look anyone in the eye. Surely, they'd know that her mind was split… that her focus wasn't quite there.

What was Draco doing to her? Surely, after five years, she'd have learned to keep herself in check.

"After treating an initial bite, St. Mungo's is reluctant to treat werewolves for everyday magical maladies, leaving patients to either seek Muggle treatment or to fend for themselves."

The memory of a werewolf child floated to the top of Hermione's memory. Little Jeremiah had been bitten during the war by Greyback. And although he received wolfsbane potion regularly, he'd been denied treatment at St. Mungo's for a nasty case of dragon pox.

It had nearly killed Draco to watch his superiors turn the five year-old away.

Hermione interviewed his parents last month, shortly after his funeral.

The sobering memory chased away any and all inappropriate thoughts.

She finished the presentation with clarity and determination, leaving time for several department members to ask questions about her proposed legislation. To her surprise, there were very few completely bigoted responses.

"Well done, Miss Granger." Athena Godfried's no-nonsense tone reached her ears as she shuffled her parchment into a neat stack. "That was the most compelling argument for werewolf rights I've seen. I have to say, you were quite persuasive."

Hermione smiled, keeping her lips pursed together. "Thank you. I appreciate the compliment. The real question is, will the Wizengamot find it persuasive?"

Athena considered Hermione for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly. The hint of a smile grazed her lips.

"I'd say that I would like you to be the one to find out. I'd like you to take the lead on this legislation. We'll put your name on it, too." She reached out and placed a hand on Hermione's shoulder. "Granger, you're an asset to this department. Ol' Bluster was a fool for sticking you in a cubicle. Couldn't see your potential. Tell you what?"

Athena steered her out of the conference room and past the maze of cubicles that filled the center of the department. They stopped in front of one of the offices that lined the edge of the department. One with a door and a window that faced the atrium.

"Let's get you into a real office, eh? Get you on track to be my deputy head."

Hermione blinked. She was quick-witted, yes, but a sudden change like this… after only one presentation? A presentation during which she had been distracted by—?

"What's the catch?"

She blurted the words before she could catch herself.

"There is no catch, Miss Granger." Athena flourished her wand, and Hermione's name appeared on the plaque beside the door. "Just do good work, or rather, keep doing what you're doing. You deserve one of these offices. The department needs you and your talent."

Hermione reached out her hand, running her fingers along her name engraved in brass.

_Her _office.

_Her_ legislation.

She thought of all the time she had spent in her tiny cubicle, filing paperwork, sorting parchment, answering memos.

She thought of Bluster, demeaning her all those years ago as she sat in his office, Shiloh barely a few months old in her lap.

"_You do have experience, Miss Granger. And talent in spades. There is no doubt about that. But what there is doubt about is your character."_

The way he had looked at her—it was as though she was less than the dirt under his shoe. And Shiloh… as though she was merely an inconvenience.

Worry pooled in her stomach as she remembered the end result she and Draco were hoping for from all their shagging.

"My fiancé and I—we're trying for another baby."

Hermione grimaced. Why couldn't she keep her mouth shut? Why did she have to be so damn upfront? She wished she could have been a bit more Slytherin about it all.

She was positive that Athena would erase her name from the wall and she'd be relegated back to her cubicle.

Instead, Athena just raised her eyebrows. "Let me know when you find success, Miss Granger. I'd be happy to discuss a suitable maternity leave arrangement with you."

Without another word, her boss turned on her heel and tread down toward her own office, leaving Hermione blinking in front of her new office door.

Hermione practically floated home from work. Perhaps they'd go out to eat tonight. Shiloh was getting better eating at restaurants these days. She coloured bits of spare parchment nicely and generally found something she liked on the children's menu. There was a new Italian place a couple blocks away that she'd been meaning to try.

The second she stepped through the grate, she was met with an enthusiastic hug from her daughter and a tired smile from Draco.

"Want to go out to eat?" she posited, setting her work bag down beside the fireplace. "You look like you could use a glass of wine."

Draco held up a tumbler of amber liquid. "Beat you to it."

"That bad, huh?" Hermione frowned. He only drank right after work if he'd had a rough day.

She was met with a sigh. He ran his fingers through his hair.

"I see."

It only took a few minutes to wrangle Shiloh into some shoes, and then they set off down the street toward the restaurant. As predicted, the little girl was able to find a suitable choice for dinner—mini chicken parmesan—after sounding out the children's menu by herself.

"She's going to be such a swot at Hogwarts," Draco mused as they perused the regular menus. "Already taking after you."

Hermione swatted at his arm. "You're pleased as punch that she's brilliant. Don't kid yourself, Draco Malfoy."

He lifted his hands in the air in mock defense.

"So what happened at work today? What's got you so upset?"

Draco lowered his arms, his expression souring.

"It's—"

"Don't you dare say nothing."

Draco sighed. He set his menu down.

"It's… you know I love healing, right?"

Hermione nodded.

"Well... I do. I just don't like working at St. Mungo's."

Hermione's mind flicked to little Jeremiah. "Why? What happened?"

"It's not my co-workers. Or my patients. They're fine." He ran his fingers through his hair again, his brow furrowing. "It's the families. They've been requesting to see other Healers. It's been happening a lot. A family will see that I'm their Healer on an intake form. They'll complain at the check-in desk and get assigned someone without a Dark Mark."

Hermione watched as Draco rubbed his forearm over his shirt sleeve.

"I just want to take care of the children on the ward, but no family will let me near their child. I've been permanently relegated to the Healer's station, writing patient reports."

Draco's voice shook as he spoke, and Hermione could see it was all he could do to keep from crying in public.

How many times had this come up since the war? How many times would her fiancé be turned away, shamed, or excluded? He tried to put on a brave face and pursue a normal life, but he'd faced stigma at nearly every turn.

Here she was, finally overcoming her own stigma with a boss who understood her, and he was practically drowning.

She wished there was some legislation she could introduce for _him_.

Hermione opened her mouth to offer him comfort, but a soft cry interrupted her thoughts.

Both she and Draco looked down to see Shiloh's legs crossed in her chair, her lip wobbly.

Draco swooped in without hesitating. "What's wrong, Pixie? What's happened?"

Hermione didn't need to ask. One look at Shiloh's pink trousers and she knew.

Shiloh sniffed. "I had a accident."

It had been like this for months. They'd tried toilet training Shiloh nearly a year ago, when she was still two. But all she'd done was stare at the miniature toilet they purchased and then try to wear it as a hat.

Hermione knew that at age three, she should probably be out of nappies, but between both her and Draco's work schedules, it just hadn't happened yet.

"Oh, sweetheart. That's okay. _Tergeo!_" Draco discretely took his wand out of his holster and cast the spell. "Remember, you have to tell us when you have to go."

Shiloh pouted and nodded, stretching her arms toward Draco. He cuddled her close while Hermione cast a quiet _Scourgify_ on the booster seat.

Even after all these years it came as a surprise, just how good Draco was with their daughter. He was good with all children, really. With adults, he was just as sarcastic and demanding as he pleased, but children were a different story. Especially Shiloh. He was always so patient with her. Understanding and calm and ready to take on challenges.

Draco had been perfectly fine changing nappies from the get-go, and he wasn't at all squeamish or stand-offish at the thought of toilet training. She half expected him to ask for an elf to take care of it.

"I was toilet trained by Mippy, our elf," he'd told her with a shrug one night before bed. "It went about as well as expected. According to Mother, I tried to wear a tea towel dress like Mippy in the beginning. I apparently… ah… made many mistakes before the training really sank in."

"We are _not_ having an elf toilet train our daughter," she'd informed him with an air of finality.

Draco had thankfully agreed, and now, shortly after her third birthday, it finally seemed like the right time.

Except they were still far from successful.

When Shiloh finally calmed down in Draco's lap, Hermione downed the rest of her glass of wine to gather the courage to offer good news. It seemed strange, given the day Draco had. But before she could even tell him that she had received a promotion, he leaned his elbow on the table and sighed.

"I'm thinking of quitting."

The words hung over the table as the waiter delivered their food, halting the conversation. Draco remained close-lipped as Hermione cut up Shiloh's chicken into bite-size pieces.

Once the little girl was munching happily on her dinner, Hermione gathered a forkful of rigatoni and cleared her throat.

"So…" She tried to conceal the surprise in her voice, though she wasn't sure how successful it was. "You're thinking of quitting St. Mungo's? I thought paediatric healing was your calling."

Draco grimaced between bites of fish. In his eyes, Hermione saw a flash of sadness. But that's all what it was. As quickly as it came, the sadness disappeared in the blink of an eye, replaced by stoicism. Although he had started opening up to her with more frequency, it was still only incremental. Draco was a master of self-preservation to his core.

He dabbed his mouth with a napkin and set his knife and fork down.

"It is, but I just don't know if I can take another day of sorting intake paperwork when I know I should be in exam rooms."

"You will be." Hermione reached her hand across the table to place it on top of his. "I'm sure it'll just take time."

Draco shook his head. "You don't hear what they're saying. The parents. They're determined to keep me from seeing their children. They think I'll harm them in some way. Curse them."

"But you took your Healer's oath!"

"Not good enough for them."

"You have a child of your own. Everyone knows that! Skeeter couldn't stop publishing articles about her two years ago!"

Draco pierced another piece of fish, his eyes trained on his plate. "People have already made their minds up about me. Don't you understand? Time won't change that."

"Well, surely if—"

"_No." _Though his voice didn't rise, Hermione could feel his frustration crackling just below the surface. "I'm done. I'm supposed to be working with children—helping them. Instead, I'm just as busy, but not helping anyone. Including my own daughter. I feel like I could do so much more—_be_ so much more if I stopped doing the thing that makes me feel like _shit_ and started doing the thing that actually makes me happy."

Hermione's brows furrowed. Was he implying that he wanted to—?

"Shit!"

Quick as a snitch, both she and Draco snapped their heads to face Shiloh. Her face was split into a wide grin. Her bowl of pasta was on the floor and a ring of red sauce outlined her mouth. Under her parents' stupefied gaze, she giggled.

"Shit!"

"_Shiloh Beatrice Malfoy!"_

"_Young Lady!" _

The three year-old had the audacity to give another impish grin.

Before Hermione had the chance to lecture her daughter about the importance of choosing her words carefully, Draco was kneeling beside Shiloh, speaking at her eye level.

"Pixie, you can't use that word. That's a grown-up witch word."

Shiloh pouted, placing her fists on her tiny waist. "But I _am_ a grown-up witch!"

Draco chuckled and patted her head. "I hate to break this to you, Pixie, but three years does not a grown witch make."

When Shiloh continued to frown, Draco shook his head and whispered, just loud enough for Hermione to hear. "Tell you what, Pixie. You can use that word when it's only you and me. Just don't your mummy hear you say it."

"_Draco!"_

He lifted his hands in the air, relenting. "Fine, fine. When you turn eleven. Not like we can tell once you go off to Hogwarts, anyway."

Draco shot a smirk at Hermione, who couldn't help but roll her eyes.

Shiloh turned to face her, tugging on her sleeve. "Mummy, am I eleven yet?"

The amusement fell off Hermione's face.

Draco shoved a piece of fish in his mouth.

"No, Pixie. You won't be eleven for a long, _long_ time."

Although she was still pouting, Shiloh seemed to sense the finality in Hermione's tone. She folded her arms and stared at her plate.

Hermione was sure that if she knew any more curse words, she'd be thinking them. Merlin help them when she became a teenager.

Hermione cleared her throat. "So, you're certain you want to quit, then?"

Draco grimaced between bites. "I still want to be a paediatric Healer somehow. St. Mungo's just… isn't right. Not for me." His head turned toward Shiloh, who had cooled down a bit and was humming to herself as she tried to scoop noodles onto her fork. "Besides, I think I can have a bigger impact if I stay with Shiloh more."

That came as a surprise. Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"You, Draco Malfoy, want to stay home and raise Shiloh? Our too-smart-for-her-own-good three year-old? You do remember we don't have a house-elf, right?"

Draco narrowed his eyes at her, though Hermione knew he was just being playful. "Don't patronise me. Of course we don't have a damn house-elf. I'm signing up to do the whole job. Besides, someone's got to toilet train this one."

Shiloh licked the sauce off her fingers, oblivious.

Hermione sighed. "You know, that's actually not a bad idea, considering what happened to me today." She paused for dramatic effect, allowing herself just a small moment in the spotlight for her achievement. It worked. Draco leaned forward, eyebrow cocked.

"Oh? And what happened today?"

"I finally got promoted. I have my own office and everything. Athena Godfried wants to push through with the werewolf legislation and wants my name on it."

Draco slapped the table, a grin growing on his face. "That's my witch!"

Hermione had to shush him, though she did so with a wide smile. "It's a _Muggle_ restaurant, Draco!"

He waved her off. "I don't give a damn. Hermione Granger, making a difference at the Ministry. Paper pusher, no longer! I bet you'll have a plaque outside your office and everything."

Hermione could feel heat rising in her cheeks, not only from the compliments, but from the glances they were getting from other tables. Draco was like this sometimes. When they were in the magical community, he was always reserved and in control. But sometimes, when they were out and about in their Muggle neighbourhood, he allowed himself to become a bit more enthusiastic.

"I will." Hermione smiled down at her plate. "But actually, it won't say Hermione Granger. Not for long, anyway."

When she looked up again, Draco tilted his head for a moment before his eyes went wide with understanding.

"Hermione _Malfoy,_ then?"

Hermione beamed. She expected another compliment or perhaps some more praise. Maybe a comment about their upcoming wedding that was only a few weeks away. Some wedding planning detail or other.

Instead, he went silent for a moment. His pupils dilated to make his eyes turn nearly completely black. In his face, Hermione saw one thing rise above all others.

Want. No—_need_.

"We're going home. Right now."

The low tone of his voice sent a shiver right to Hermione's core. She rubbed her thighs together, as she had been doing so often these days. How could he do that to her with just a few words? Hermione pondered this as he called the waiter over to have him box up their leftovers. The moment the check had been paid, Shiloh was in Draco's arms and they were marching back up the street toward home.

With each step they took, Hermione felt her body thrum with electricity. She wondered briefly what they would do with Shiloh, who was definitely awake and alert. But she didn't worry. Draco seemed confident. Like he had the perfect plan.

The moment they stepped through the wards and past the front door, Draco headed straight for the fireplace. He set Shiloh down just before he stuck his head into the emerald flames.

"Malfoy Manor!"

Hermione barely had time to hear Narcissa answer Draco's floo call before she put the pieces together. With a giddy tone she hardly recognised, she turned to Shiloh.

"Pixie, how would you like to spend the night with your Grandmother?"

Hermione knew that Malfoy Manor wasn't exactly the most welcoming place for children. But Shiloh had visited several times, often returning with a wide smile on her face and a report that her grandmother had let her chase butterflies in the garden and _have_ _tea like a real lady_.

Thankfully, Shiloh squealed and began jumping up and down.

As Draco hammered out the details, Hermione summoned an overnight bag with pyjamas and a toothbrush from down the hall. Within three minutes, Shiloh stepped up to the fire with her dad, ready to have a sleepover at the Manor. Draco took her hand as they prepared to leave.

"Ready to go?"

Shiloh nodded, her eyes sparkling.

Draco turned his head to face Hermione. _His_ eyes were glinting with anything but innocent thoughts. Hermione's breath caught in her throat.

"I'll see _you_ in just a minute."

The moment father and daughter vanished, Hermione tore across the house toward the master bedroom. In a flash, she shed the plain skirt and blouse she wore under her Ministry robes in exchange for something from the newest drawer in her dresser. It was something, much like sex, that she hadn't given much thought to until recently. The contents brushed up against her fingers, soft and silky in all shades.

With no time to be discerning, Hermione grabbed the first set of matching lingerie she could find and pulled it on. Black lace. Silky across her core. Practically see-through. When she looked down, she could see her nipples outlined clearly beneath the bralette. And the knickers hardly covered her arse, which she knew Draco adored.

A quick leap across the bedroom to the loo, and Hermione was ready just in time to hear the Floo roar to life again. Fighting the urge to cover up with a towel or robe, she slipped from their bedroom and sat in the middle of the couch as Draco stepped through.

He dusted himself off.

And then his jaw dropped. "Hermione, you—"

"That's the future Mrs. Malfoy to you." Her voice came out as a purr, and she could see the immediate reaction in Draco's trousers.

Hermione stood from the couch and reached out one of her arms to grab ahold of Draco's standard issue St. Mungo's tie. Pulling her future husband to her, she thought that perhaps, a bit more time as a family of three wouldn't be such a bad thing. Especially if it meant more time to explore this new side of their relationship.

* * *

**I've been looking forward to writing Draco and Hermione as more sexually open and curious. I'm quite pleased with that development. **

**I also am really proud of the little personality I've given Shiloh. She's very distinct in my mind. **

**I hope you're enjoying the fluff! I'd love to know what you think, as always! Reviews make my entire day when I get them. I don't typically get a lot of feedback for this story. Even just some hearts or a couple words mean a lot. **

**I don't see a ton of fics that do a deep dive of the HEA, and I just really wanted to solidify Draco and Hermione's HEA after all the suffering they've gone through. It's a bit self-indulgent, I know, but I hope you're enjoying it as well. **

**The next chapter is... the long-anticipated WEDDING! **


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